


Edge of Vision

by Elissahara



Category: Glee
Genre: Big Bang Challenge, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-30
Updated: 2012-06-30
Packaged: 2017-11-08 21:59:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/447997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elissahara/pseuds/Elissahara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even for FBI Agents the past comes back to haunt you.  Special Agent Kurt Hummel must find his way back from the hands of an old enemy while others must put the pieces together a strange string of clues and murders that have no real lead.</p>
<p>Who are your friends and who are your enemies.  Agents Puckerman, Lopez and Chang must race against time to find their missing Agent while Puck must come to terms with events that happened years before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Start of the End

> Death borders upon our birth and our cradle stood in the grave ~ Joseph Hall

### The Start of the End

Special Agent Kurt Hummel liked beat the odds; it’s kind of his specialty. It’s the reason why he’s the head of the violent crimes unit for the FBI field office in Cleveland, Ohio. Who knew a kid who lived for fashion would find his place in law enforcement. Kurt liked to think it all goes back to his high school days and surviving the narrow-minded bullies that didn’t understand him. 

Of course having a unique ability to get into the heads of the people he hunts doesn’t hurt either. Kurt felt grim pride for that particular accomplishment. It made days like today worth all the sleepless nights. 

Special Agent Hummel leaned back in his desk chair, scrubbed his hands against his face, and rubbed at his temples where a headache was starting to build up behind his eyes making his scalp itch.

He looked up from his desk and saw one of his Agents still working on her report to add to his own Kurt’s final report to submit to AD Schuester. 

“Hey Lopez,” Kurt called.

“Yeah,” said the distracted agent across from the room as she squinted at the computer screen.

“Call it a night and pick up again Monday,” he said.

Annoyed dark eyes met his, “No disrespect sir, but I would like to get this done before going home. It would just irritate me to have to pick back up on Monday.”

Kurt gave Lopez a tired smile, “Just don’t stay too late. I really don’t need another panicked call from Brittney.”

“That happened one time,” she snarked at Kurt.

He pointed at her, “Don’t stay too late.”

She mocked saluted him and focused back on her screen.

Shaking his head, he grabbed his suit jacket and put it on. Reaching into his inner pocket he pulled out his iPod and put in his ear buds.

Setting his playlist for “home”, he started past the bank of elevators and toward the stairwell that will take him down to the garage level. He always liked to clear his mind before going home, so as not to bring all the stress with him. As the heavy stairwell door clang shut, he felt the weight of the day settle on his shoulders.

He leaned back against the door and closed his eyes. After a minute, he then opened his eyes and made his way down the stairwell toward the parking garage. He reached the bottom floor and exited the building.

The soft and ethereal voice of Amy Lee wafted through the ear bud speakers as she sang her soft haunting melody that always soothed him. Special Agent Kurt Hummel could identify with the feeling, as he walked through the deserted parking garage toward his silver SUV. The sticky air felt stale and static against his skin making the already tight feeling of his body feel tighter. He’s glad of the music blurring out the empty echo of the parking garage. Despite being a Special Agent, Kurt always felt the oppressive emptiness when he left the building late at night.

All day he felt an insistent tickle at the back of his head, similar to the buzzing noise of a mosquito flying around the ears. His violent crimes unit had working on the damn case for over two months, and now that it finished all Kurt wanted was to sleep for a week. Even though they made an arrest earlier that day, Special Agent Kurt Hummel still couldn’t get the image of the perpetrator’s face out of Kurt’s head. The cold dark eyes that seemed to look into Kurt and as much as Agent Hummel wished to never hear the man’s voice, it slithered around his brain.

Rubbing his temple with his left hand as he continued to walk through the garage toward his vehicle, all Kurt could think about was going home to a hot shower and then some lazy beginning of weekend sex. A smile played at his lips as he thought about his partner at home, damn the day was just too long and Blaine was just the headache cure he needed desperately. 

As he turned the corner toward his parking spot, a sudden sharp pain in Kurt’s temple made him stumble, as his eyes suddenly began to lose focus. Leaning hard against the concrete pillar Kurt hunched over as the intense pain made his eyes burn.

“Jesus, fuck,” He cursed as the Special Agent felt blood trickle from his nose. With shaky hands, he reached for his suit jacket pocket and snagged out the handkerchief he had stored there. Keeping his eyes closed he leaned his head back and pressed the handkerchief to his nose.

He rested his forehead against the cold concrete pillar waiting for the pain to either abate or make him pass out. It’s been years since he had suffered from such an intense headache. The last time he remembered this much pain was when his mother had died when he was eight years old.

Suddenly like a camera flash behind his closed eyelids, he saw a familiar wall painted red. The smears like he’d witnessed on other walls for the last two months.

“I know you,” he said, “I know you as much as you know me. We’re brothers now Agent Hummel, were bound at the soul.”

“We are nothing alike, Mr. Cahill.” Said Agent Hummel

Gus Cahill lips twisted into a mockery of a smile, “Oh, you’ll see. My greatest work had yet to be uncovered.”

“What work Mr. Cahill? What will we find?” Agent Hummel questioned.

“It’s glorious and beautiful and I am so happy that I will get to share it with you.”

Inhaling painfully there was sharp tang of blood on his tongue that made Kurt want to gag as the pain vibrated in his head. The words on the wall were blurred, but the scene playing behind his eyes was so similar and foreign at the same time. In his head, he had seen this all before repeatedly, like a sound track stuck on repeat.

As Agent Hummel’s eyes scanned behind his eye lids the rooms swept by him, moving down the hall where Blaine was and a whimper escaped Kurt’s lips. With as much will as Kurt possessed the Special Agent made his eyes open and moaned at the too bright florescent lights above his head.

Through eyes wet with tears Kurt examined the garage and everything looked normal, but at the corners of his vision overlaid was the view of another place. Flickering in his peripheral vision Kurt could make out his living room. His hands slipped along with the concrete as he tried to get his bearings, and a wave of nausea and dizziness hit him as he saw his hall overlaid the open space the of garage. Narrow and wide competed with his mind and he slumped down again as he shook all over.

He fumbled with pulling his phone out of his pocket and hit speed dial. He yanked out the ear bud and pressed the phone tightly to his ear.

“Yes Hummel, I am closing up my computer now, no need to nag,” said the amused female voice of Agent Lopez.

“Lopez,” he mumbled out his hand trembling so hard he could barely hold onto his phone.

“Kurt?” Agent Santana Lopez asked.

“Parking garage,” he gasped out. “Blaine.”

“Are you alone, do you need back-up? Kurt?” Lopez asked briskly.

“No, no just,” he breathed out painfully, “I need to go home . . . can’t . . . take myself.”

“Don’t move Kurt, I’m coming down to you. And don’t you fuckin’ hang up the phone stay with me you got it?” Lopez said.

He heard her curse of the line; he leaned heavier against the pillar and tried the keep himself coherent while waiting for Agent Lopez. “Oh fucking hell,” he grunted as his vision took a red haze the pain decided it could get angrier. 

“Kurt?” He heard Lopez, “you still with me?”

“It’s so red, San,” he mumbled, “Oh, oh Blaine, No. No. No.” He chanted under his breath. 

He couldn’t control the tears as the movie seemed to play out in all the pain. All around the bedroom Kurt had shared with the one person he loved most, the room destroyed and in the middle of the bed was Blaine Anderson. Kurt gasped out again as he was sure that Blaine was dead. Unwillingly his brain recorded over and over again what could only be the death of his lover.

And all through it he heard whispering darkly in his head, “We’re brothers now Agent Hummel, were bound at the soul.”

8888

Agent Santana Lopez understood pain and desperation very well. It’s part of what spurred her into becoming an FBI agent. It’s also, what made her very, very good at her job. People were less to mess with her now that she had credibility. She knew she was damn lucky to have her position on the Violent Crimes Unit.

It took her a long time to understand her boss, because Special Agent Kurt Hummel is a very complicated man. He had a way of looking at you that seemed to look right into the very heart of you and it was unnerving until you got used to it. Santana worked at not getting defensive every time her boss talked to her. Now that she knew him, there wasn’t a damn thing she wouldn’t do for him. And hearing his pained breathing had her as close to panicked as she had ever got. 

Running to the elevators she slapped the button hard waiting for the damn car to reach her floor. “God damn it,” she swore as she turned and ran for the stair well. Keeping one hand on her phone the other pushing against the heavy steel door she crashed through it and ran down the metal stepped toward the parking garage.

Her feet landed with loud clang, clang as she raced around the landing until she crashed through the garage level door. She stood and worked on controlling her breathing and trying to get her heart to stop pounding so hard in her chest. 

“Alright Hummel where’s your position?” she asked trying to adopt a more business like tone.

“Can’t,” said the breathless voice over the line. “I . . . home . . . Blaine.”

“I gotcha boss, you want Blaine. But let me find you first than we can concentrate on getting Blaine to you.”

“NO,” said her boss, “Dead.”

She moved the phone from her ear and worked on listening to the noise of the garage around her. Not far from her right came the pained groan of what she feared was her boss. She took the time to take her service weapon out of her side holster and slowly but methodically made her way to where she heard the noise. 

A parking garage is a terrible place for a single agent to keep her back covered, but she crouched down as she side stepped to the pillar closest to where she knew Kurt parked, in order to make herself smaller target. She saw the legs out first before getting around the corner and seeing for the first time the state of her boss.

“Oh, fuck,” she breathed and slowly came closer to him.

“Hummel?” she called as she scanned the parking garage trying to see any hidden threats, then she looked back at the Special Agent as her gut tensed with a possible threat in the parking garage, “Did someone do this to you?”

“Noooo,” he moaned, “Headache.”

She re-holstered her weapon and scooted closer to Kurt, she touched his wrist gently and he violently moved away from her, “Hey easy, I’m just trying to see how bad it is okay.”

When he didn’t answer her, she tried again to reach out and touch him gently. When he didn’t move, she used her fingertips to check his heartbeat, which was racing under her fingers. Then she looked at the blood soaked handkerchief. There was so much there, “Can you open your eyes?” she asked.

“They . . . are . . . open,” He replied.

So not a good sign, Santana thought as she said, “I’m going to call an ambulance Kurt, do you understand? You need to go to the hospital.”

He started to pant hard and was shaking his head, and Santana reached forward to try to stop him from hurting himself further. “Can’t . . . home,” he whispered.

She gripped his shoulders and easily kept him from moving more, “I am not going to argue with you. I am going to call an ambulance and you are going to try not to die on me.” She said forcefully. Picking up her phone Santana dialed dispatch and when the dispatcher came on the line, “This is Lopez, Agent Santana; I need an ambulance at the parking garage on East 5th Ave.”

“This is dispatch, what is the situation?” Asked the operator.

“Received call from Hummel, Special Agent Kurt from the East 5th Ave parking garage. He seemed to be suffering from a bloody nose, his heart rate is racing and he seemed to be incoherent, he is incoherent,” she corrected.

“Dispatch acknowledges request, eta on arrival ten minutes.” Said the operator.

Santana felt herself relax marginally, but her focus was again on the man before her. She settled herself beside him and moved him carefully so he was leaning against her.

“Help is on its way, and then we’ll get you to the hospital and I promise I will personally bring Blaine to you.” She said.

“Don’t go alone,” he mumbled to her.

Kurt’s behavior worried her more than going to check on Blaine, so again she dialed a number on her iPhone and waited for the other person to pick up the line.

“Come on Blaine,” she mumbled and she couldn’t help the uneasy feeling creeping up her spine. She looked again to her boss and couldn’t stop herself from wondering what he knew.

Off in the distance she heard the distinct sound of ambulance sirens. Reflectively she held onto Kurt harder trying to reassure herself that yes help was on its way. And all the while no one answered the phone at Kurt’s home.

8888

Agent Mike Chang loved his weekend, it was times like this that he was able to relax and indulge in his hobby. He closed his eyes and let the music wash over him and then slid his left leg out and moved with focused energy as he pivoted back and forth to the beat. As he moved to the next step, he felt his phone vibrate on his hip.

Slowing his movements down Mike checked the phone and frowned, blowing out an annoyed breath he answered, “San I’m not on call this weekend, what’s the deal?”

“Boss was taken to the emergency room,” she said without pause.

Mike stood up straighter, “What?”

“I need you to go to the boss’s house and get Blaine; he’s not answering his phone and man, Hummel is not in a good shape.” She said.

“What the hell happened?” Mike asked as he made is way out of his home dance studio and into the main area of his house. He picked up a towel and started rubbing the sweat away from his face.

Santana breathed out harshly over the phone, “I don’t know, and it’s pissing me off.”

Instead of harassing Lopez, he headed for his room to put on different clothes, “Alright I’ll get Blaine, what hospital are you at?”

“Saint Marks,” she said, “And Mike, something hinky is up. My radar is buzzing.”

Mike stopped getting into his jeans and frowned, “Really?”

“I don’t know but the boss was mumbling some shit while I was waiting for the ambulance and well, Blaine had never missed one of our calls, so yeah, hinky.”

One thing Agent Mike Chang had learned to depend on over the years is Agent Lopez’s gut. She rarely was ever wrong. “Should I call someone else in?” Mike asked.

“No,” she said seriously, “Let’s keep this on the down low until something requires back-up.”

“Hell, alright.” Mike said as he finished getting dressed, grabbing his piece and holster. “I’m going to let you go and I’ll phone you when I get to the house.”

“I’ll keep you posted if I hear anything on my end, and Mike? Thanks.” Mike put down the phone and reached over to his night stand and pulled out his wallet and badge. 

Cleveland, Ohio was not what Mike Chang wanted when he joined the FBI, but seeing how tight his unit worked, he re-thought his estimation of being stuck in the middle of the country. He grabbed his jacket and threw it on as he made his way out the door. 

The stale chilled November air threatened to get colder and the weather did little to help Agent Chang relax. He unlocked and climbed into his car, docking his iPhone. He turned on soft background music as he made his way through the quiet streets to Special Agent Kurt Hummel’s house.

As he drove past South Main, he kept superstitiously looking at his phone hoping for a call from Lopez to give him an update on what had happened to their boss. Mike hated going into a situation without all the facts first, and just going on something being ‘hinky’ was a little unsettling. 

He turned left on 6th then made a sharp right onto Maple Street. Driving down the older neighborhood always felt eerie especially now that Mike had a rather unsettling feeling take root in his gut. The large street trees made the already dark night seem all the darker obscuring the few streetlights in the area.

He ticked off the number of housed until he drove up to the familiar house on the block. How many times had he and the team come together for drinks or the hang out in the back yard and enjoy a BBQ together. Every time that Mike had been here in the past, the house always felt alive and lived in. Pulling into the driveway, he couldn’t shook the feeling of something being off. He turned off his car, pulled his phone off the docking station, and slipped it into his pocket.

When he got out of the car, the feeling of wrongness increased. He carefully approached the front door and noticed straight off that the front door looked unlatched. Deciding to go back to his car, he grabbed his flashlight and headed back to the house. Pulling his gun from the holster, he carefully nudged the door open with his knee and entered the house.

He used his flashlight to sweep the room before going further and what he saw made him pause. The living room wall, the one with the very tasteful and decorative pictures covered in red paint. Agent Chang had seen this before. “Holy fuck,” he swore as he made his way into the hallway. Again red paint on the walls, he came to the master bedroom and knew, god did he ever know, what he was going to find.

Carefully nudging the door open, he panned his light across the room. The bed in a snow-white sheet and in the middle was Blaine Anderson laid out in rest, with scattered rose petals littering the bedding. “God damn it!” Mike flipped on the light and carefully walked across the room, trying not to contaminate the crime scene any more than necessary. He knew it was too late, but he had to check, because he could be wrong, because things like this just did not happen to people he knew. Reaching forward Agent Mike Change checked for a pulse of the person lying prone on the bed. He didn’t find one.

8888

Pacing the waiting room with barely controlled patience, Agent Santana Lopez kept checking the time on her watch. She hated hospitals, they made her skin itch just being there waiting. How long did it take to control a nosebleed and headache anyway? She was on round twenty of her pacing when her phone vibrated. She pulled it out and noticed that it was Chang calling. She moved to the cell phone appropriate room of the hospital and picked up the call.

“What’s your eta, Chang?” she asked.

“I’m not coming San,” he said wearily, “I’m now working an active crime scene.”

Santana focused on the wall in front of her, in order to keep her emotions contained, “Blaine?”

“Yeah,” he whispered.

Her hands started to tremble as she closed her eyes against the sudden moisture in them, “Did you call it in?”

“I wanted to give you the update before I did. It looked like Cahill’s work. Hell, the packaging for the sheets and the paint are neatly tucked away in the fucking kitchen.” He ground out. “The god damned sick fuck left a love letter for Kurt.”

“Call it in Mike and walk away.” Santana ordered.

“No way, no way are you asking me to walk away from this,” he said.

“You can and you will, do you understand me. You and I both are way too close to this to even think clearly. Shit, Mike he knew. He knew.” Santana slumped down into the hard waiting room chair. Her whole body wanted to give into grief, because, who, didn’t love Blaine? He was full life, he was, oh god he was. Then another dark and terrifying thought raced through her mind. “Brittney,” she breathed.

“San don’t go there, you have no idea for sure if everyone was a target or not.” Mike reasoned.

“I gotta call Brit,” she said barely listening to Mike now. 

“SANTANA!” yelled Mike, “I will contact her, I need you to focus on what the hell happened to the boss, do you understand?”

She rubbed her eyes, “Yeah, alright fuck.” She felt deflated.

“I’m going to call this in, and I promise you I will contact Brittney and I will get back you.” He said.

“Okay, okay, I got this, and hey Mike?” 

“Yes,” he said.

“I needed that, but if you ever mention this to anyone. I will kick your ass.” She said. 

Mike was silent on the other end for a short while, “It’s what we do.” 

“Yeah,” she said quietly, “When you hand it over, come to Saint Marks. I could use the company.” 

Mike sighed, “Sure.”

Lopez slipped her phone back into her pocket and worked on getting her frayed nerves together. Standing up and squaring her shoulders she went back out to the main waiting room. Her mind refused to think about what lay in the house on Maple Street. She needed to be here, she needed . . . she needed to find the words to tell her boss that his lover was gone. 

“Agent Lopez?” called a perky blond woman in medical scrubbed.

Santana made her way over to the woman, “I’m Lopez.”

“I’m Doctor Fabray, I looked at Special Agent Hummel when he was brought into the ER,” she paused as she looked at her notes, “I have him sent down for a CAT Scan, he is exhibiting signs of a possible brain aneurism.”

“Wouldn’t have that killed him by now?” Santana asked.

“Not all aneurisms burst; he could have a slow bleeder that is building up pressure, which would account for the intense headache. The bloody nose could also be caused from stress to the system and not necessarily be associated with an aneurism. I will know more after the CAT scan.”

“Is he, is he still in pain?” Santana asked.

The doctor pursed her lips, “I hesitate to treat the pain until I know more. Giving him pain medications will make his responses sluggish and with an unknown, I would like to keep him a coherent as possible.”

Santana reframed from commenting on her boss’s ability to be coherent. “Do you know how much longer before I can see him?”

“I wouldn’t know until his test results come back. I will have a nurse keep you appraised of his condition as necessary.” Doctor Fabray said as she started away from the Agent, dismissing her from her mind as she walked behind the swinging doors to the inner part of the hospital.

Doctors like Fabray are the reason why she hated hospitals so damn much, as she went to go find some bad coffee, her phone vibrated in her pocket. “Lopez,” she answered.

“San?” said a sweet female voice over the cell.

Santana Lopez ducked back into the phone room and instantly fell into a chair, “Baby are you okay?”

“Mike said you were at the hospital, are you hurt?” asked Brittney.

“No, no its Kurt, he needed to see the doctor.” Santana said.

“Oh,” Brittney said, “Do you need me to be there with you.”

Santana closed her eyes and tried not to think the dark thoughts that were going through her head now. Blaine was Brittney’s best friend. Hell, he introduced her to Brittney two years ago. “No, Mike’s going to be here with me. Its official business now.”

That was so wrong, to think of your friend as official business. “San, when you’re done come home. And when you’re ready tell me what happened.”

“You know I will. Get some sleep, no need for both of us to be up.” She said.

“Night San,” Brittney said.

“Night baby, I love you.” Santana felt compelled to say.

“Love you too.” And the connection ended.

Santana pressed the phone to her forehead and wished the night was over already.


	2. Along Comes a Spider

> “Every night when I go to bed, I hope that I may never wake again, and every morning renews my grief.” ~ Franz Shubert

In full darkness at night, a man leaned against one of the many trees lining the street all the while keeping watch on the house across the street. He pulled out a sliver case, took out a cigarette, and put it between his lips. He slipped the case back into his pocket, using his hands to shield the cigarette to light the end. He turned toward the upper end of the street and watched as Mike Chang pulled into the driveway to the house on Maple Street. He continued to watch as Chang noticed the door, then go back to his vehicle and get a flashlight. He smiled to himself as he watched the Agent pull his gun. This was almost too much fun; he watched as Chang entered the house.

Reaching into his jacket, he pulled out his cell and dialed a number.

“Is it done?” asked a calm cold voice over the phone.

The man took a pull from his cigarette, savoring the nicotine before blowing it out, “It’s done.” He confirmed.

“And Hummel?” 

The man smiled darkly, “The toxin should have done its job by now.” He kept on eye on the house and watched as the pinprick of light flit through the front room. It was a nice touch making sure, only the sheers were over the windows.

“You left nothing that could be traced back to us?” asked the voice.

He chuckled as he said, “I’m very good at what I do, ma’am.” 

“If you check your account, you can verify I have wired your payment,” she said.

He picked up his phone and verified the money was in his account; he hummed in pleasure as he watched his account grow with the million-dollar payment. “It was a pleasure doing business with you.”

“Yes, it was, wasn’t it?”

8888

The hazy light glinted through the trees lighting the ground in a warm infused glow.

Itsy bitsy spider went up the waterspout

The wind whispered their secrets while gently making the trees sway back and forth.

Down came the rain

Skipping down the sidewalk was a girl with light brown pig tails.

And washed the spider out

Her arms swinging back and forth as she made her way down the walk. 

Out came the sun and

Her dress a white as snow, two bright blue ribbons in her hair that matched her pretty shoes, she sung softly under her breath.

Dried up all the rain

The little girl stopped skipping, turned around, and looked behind her.

And the itsy bitsy spider 

Her eyes were a deep brown and she smiled big and bright, “Come find me Agent Hummel.”

Went up the spout again.

Come find me, come find me . . . come . . . find . . . me. The words seemed to drift in the wind and across the street to a little house in the small Midwestern town of Lima, Ohio.

8888

Special Agent Kurt Hummel looked up at the round tube through the haze of pain in his head. It had throbbed so much that the pain didn’t even register anymore. Vaguely he heard the tick, tick, and whirl as the machine took its pictures. 

He could hear in the background instructions form the technician, “Okay Kurt breathed in, hold, one, two, and three. Breathe out. Good. You’re doing really well. Just a few more and we’ll get you out of there.”

He alternated between hot and cold as he lay on the uncomfortable bed. He felt it first in his right arm, the tremble that vibrated up his limb and across his shoulders. His breathing became sharp as he heard the whirling of the machine around him. Then the creeping feeling flowed down his spine making his whole body thrash.

“Pull him out, pull him out!” shouts a voice from outside of the tube.

He’s not aware that the bed is moving until the light gets brighter around him. He tries to stop the rapid movement of his body, but nothing is responding. Kurt felt multiple set of hands on his body. His eyes rolled back into his head and like a marionette with his strings cut, Kurt suddenly stopped moving. Slowly his chest rose and fell, and then stopped.

“Get him on a gurney and someone call a crash cart!” And as his awareness narrowed into a blinding pinpoint, Kurt Hummel died.

 

8888

Santana nursed her cup of coffee as if it was the greatest ambrosia known to man. She kept a hawk’s eye on the doors to the inner part of the hospital waiting for Doctor Blondie to come back out and let her know what the results were on her boss.

She looked up as another person joined her, “Hey,” she said in way of greeting.

Mike Chang scrubbed his hands against his face, trying to wake himself up from the crap of the last few hours as he sat down beside her, “This is so fucked up.”

Santana spared him a bitter smile as she stood up, “I’m going to get you a cup of coffee. I don’t I want to hear this on only half cup of cold coffee.”

She walked stiffly down the hall towards the coffee machine, trying to pull her thoughts together. As she presses the button on the machine and watched as the cup drop from the vending machine and the dark black liquid fill the cup, a hand touches her elbow. Only years of knowing, the other person prevents Santana from hurting him outright.

Mike reached down, grabbed the cup of coffee, and directed Santana to a secluded corner. They sit down and Santana sips from her hot coffee, “What are you thinking?” She asked quietly.

“I don’t know if I’m just chasing shadows or if there is more going on,” he said just as quietly.

Agent Lopez directs her sharp gaze to Mike, “Explain.”

Mike sat back and his eyes lose focus as he structures his thoughts, “After the team came in to process the scene, I don’t know I stepped back and it hit me. Everything was just so staged.”

Lopez leaned toward Mike, “How?”

He shook his head, “You told me on the phone that something hinky was going on, so yeah after the shock of seeing Blaine, I just had to mentally move back and work the room for Blaine like I would for any other victim. The details of the whole set up just felt off. First that Cahill left his love letter for the Boss, and . . .”

“Holy shit, not to Blaine!” Exclaimed Lopez tensely.

“Yeah, then I looked at the paint and the brand was wrong.” Mike said.

“Are you sure about this Mike, we could have a copycat or . . .” she so didn’t not want to think about the ‘or’.

“One thing I know about the boss, is that he gets the details. Everything is small details, but I know because I did the damn research on the paint. Cahill bought one specific brand of paint. And if you remember,” Mike said.

“It was the paint that led us to Cahill. Yeah, you’re right. So what? It doesn’t prove anything.” Lopez said.

“Maybe not, but something more is going on. I can feel it San.” He said intently.

A shadow fell across them making Mike and Santana look up. Standing before them was Doctor Fabray. By looking at the Doctor’s face, Santana sat straight readying herself for bad news.

“Agent Lopez,” said Doctor Fabray. “I have some bad news. Agent Hummel suffered a seizer, his heart had stopped for a short time, and currently we have moved him to ICU.”

“Our initial diagnosis seemed to have been wrong,” the Doctor, said bluntly.

Santana breathed in praying for patience, “What is your diagnosis now?”

Doctor Fabray’s eyes looked at Agent Chang and waited, “Jesus doc, he’s an agent too. You can tell us both,” Santana said with more than a bit of irritation in her voice.

Doctor Fabray’s eyes hardened as she looked at the two agents, “It seemed Agent Hummel had come in contact with a neurotoxin.”

“How in the hell does someone just come in contact with a neurotoxin?” Asked Lopez.

“They can come from snake or spider bites, some you can come in contact with if you ingest certain foods like puffer fish.” Said the Doctor.

Mike leaned forward intently, “Do you know what type of toxin he came in contact with, and will he recover?”

“We’re running tests now,” said Fabray, “It’s also too early to tell how much damage the neurotoxin had caused to the tissues in his lungs and if any brain damage had occurred. He currently wasn’t breathing on his own. There is no reason for either of you to wait; we could easily call you when we know a change in his condition.”

Agents Lopez and Chang exchanged a look, “Sure Doctor Fabray, that would be appreciated,” Said Mike.

Lopez stood up, “You have my contact information on file?”

“I believe we do,” the doctor said before turning and leaving the two agents.

“She’s a real peach,” said Mike.

“Yeah a real award winning bedside manner,” she looked down at Mike, “I want to go to the scene.”

“Shit, San,” Mike started to object.

Lopez raised her hand before any more objections could get out, “Save it Chang,” she said.

8888

Walking swiftly down the hospital Doctor Quinn Fabray turned left and out onto the hospital stairwell, she walked down to the stepped and stopped before the man standing in her way. 

“How are you doing Quinney?” He smiled at her.

“What are you doing here?” she whispered harshly looking back the stairwell checking to make sure they were alone.

“Ah, precious is that any way to talk to an old friend,” he said.

She crossed her arms against her chest, “I have nothing to say to you Israel.”

He took a step up, his yellowed toothy smile getting bigger, “See this is something you have to understand. You and I have an arrangement. And as long of you keep your end up, I promise not to let certain . . . details out.”

“What will it take to make you go away,” she seethed out between clenched teeth.

He moved up again and stood on the same step as Doctor Fabray, he reached out to touch her hair, she pulled back in shock. “Tsk, tsk,” he said. “I’m sure we could come to another type of bargain if you would like,” he leaned into her space again, “Because you will never be rid of me, sweetheart.”

Quinn Fabray’s gut twisted in disgust, “You need to give me time to get what you want.” She said to him.

He backed out of her space and laughed lightly, “See I knew you would understand it my way.” Turning his back on her he headed down the stairwell, “It’s always a pleasure doing business with you Quinney,” he laughed as he trotted down the stairs.

Doctor Quinn Fabray sat down hard on the stair step and closed her eyes.

8888

Agent Santana Lopez stood in the home office that belonged to one Special Agent Kurt Hummel. She surveyed the room; something was missing from the space. On the desk was Hummel’s lap top, a picture of Blaine and him sitting next to the computer. On the right side of the room stood the speakers with the docking station so he could play music. Against one wall were other photos of Hummel and Anderson’s family respectively. And it was those pictures that drew Santana’s attention. She slowly walked toward the wall, looking at each image carefully looking for the missing something.

With hands on her hips she cocked her head from left to right looking at the images again and again, she heard the light knock on the doorframe, “Anything?” Mike Chang asked.

“Mike come here and look at this wall with me and tell me what you see?” She asked without turning around and looking at Mike.

He entered the room and stood beside Santana and looked at the wall with her, “I don’t see anything out of the ordinary here.” He pointed to each picture and said, “Every image looked correct and like Kurt’s sense of order, everything laid out neatly.”

Santana turned to Mike and snapping her fingers then pointing to him, “That’s it.” She said.

Turning back to the wall, she noticed the one frame that did not quite ‘fit’ with the rest of the neatly laid out pictures on the wall. “Mike get your camera and take a picture of the wall before I pull that photo down.”

He didn’t even say anything as he left the room to do as Lopez requested. She itched to take the photo down, but she knew that messing with a crime scene without proper procedures could destroy the chain of evidence. In short order Chang came back and took several different photos of the wall before Santana walked forward and pulled the photo off the wall. It was one of Hummel and his stepbrother Finn Hudson. She didn’t know Hudson very well, he lived in New York with his girlfriend. At least she thought he did, she would have to confirm with Brittney later. After she told her about what happened to Blaine. Pushing back the emotions that she worked on keeping at bay all night, she opened the back of the photo.

“Fuck me,” Chang whispered.

In the back of the frame was a DVD disk, and Santana picked it up out of the frame and looked at Mike, “Share this with no one.” She hissed.

“We don’t even know if this even pertains to anything, San.” Mike said.

“But what’s your gut telling you Mike?” Santana asked as she held the disk.

He ran his hands through his hair, “That something big could be on the disk.”

“Do you know if the boss was working on a side assignment?” She asked Mike.

He shook his head and looked around the room again with sharper eyes, “Nothing had pointed to anything new going on. The boss had always been you know the boss, nothing shady or nervous about him since I have known him. Is it possible something from a long time ago? I mean before we became part of his team?” He asked.

Santana looked at the disk again in her hand and then over to Mike, “Who do you trust at the office? Without a single doubt?” 

Mike walked away from her and then back, agitation flowing all over his body. He opened and closed his fists as he thought everything over, “I trust everyone one on the team,” he said, “There are a couple in ‘IT’ that I know I can trust.” He paced back and forth some more, “Tina on the CSI unit, and Dr. Jones in the morgue.”

Santana nodded her head, “Artie in ‘IT’ right, maybe Zizes, but maybe not, she wanted too much just to get a code cracked. Tina? Oh Cohen-Chang huh, why not Erbansky?” 

“Dickhead, really Lopez,” Mike said.

“Yeah, yeah you’re right.” She breathed out through her teeth, “Okay, for now we don’t say anything about this disk. We need to figure where to go from here.”

“This doesn’t sit right with me San,” he warned.

Lopez carefully slipped the disk into the inner pocket of her jacket and carefully replaced the back on the photo frame. She walked back to the wall and hung the photo back in its place, “It doesn’t sit right with me either,” She turned to Mike, “But Blaine he was family Mike. Hummel and I butt heads a lot, but he’s a damn good boss. I just want to know that what happened today wasn’t part of something else. I have to do this Mike.” Her voice breaking.

Agent Chang closed his eyes and nodded his head, “I get it San, I really do and yeah if we have to do this, then we work it tight.” She patted his arm as she walked out of room, and Mike sighed trying to figure out how everything had gone to shit so fast.

8888

Special Agent Kurt Hummel lay as still as death on the ICU bed. The oxygen machine pumped up and down, making a rhythmic whoosh, whoosh sound. The heart monitor droned on in its steady beep, beep as it measured the man’s heart rate. The door to the room opened and in stepped the doctor on duty. Picking up the chart at the end of the bed, the attending physician opened the chart and looked over the notes left there. Walking around the bed, the doctor checked the machines and the IV line providing important fluids to the patient on the bed.

Cautiously looking at the door, the doctor stood up and pulled the curtain closed across the observation windows. Turning back around Doctor Quinn Fabray made her way back to the bed. She looked down at her patient and carefully brushed back the hair that had fallen into Kurt’s face.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a vial and syringe. She carefully measured out a dose and then reaching for the pick line, she carefully inserted the needle. Taking a deep breath, she depressed the plunger, allowing the liquid to begin to enter the person on the bed. She carefully withdrew the needle and disposed of it like she would any other that she had used in her career. 

She bent down to Kurt’s ear, “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Then she stood up straight, carefully smoothed out her white jacket and made her way out of the room. Once outside the door she took a moment to let her fear and anger well up inside her chest. She closed her eyes and mentally pushed her feelings down and centered herself. She walked away, not once did she look back.

8888

The sidewalk bright white and chalked on the surface was a pattern. The pattern was drawn carefully on the concrete surface of the sidewalk, each space carefully numbered from one to thirteen. A little girl in a pink pastel dress stood before the first square. She held a blue stone in her small hand and glanced once behind her. She smiled before turning back to the hopscotch game and tossed the blue stone.

It landed on a number and as she started to jumping, she sang:

One for Sorrow  
Two for joy  
Three for a girl  
Four for a boy  
Five for silver  
Six for gold

Balancing on one foot, she hovered before the next number and she carefully bent down to retrieve her stone before jumping the rest of the way.

Seven for a secret never to be told  
Eight for a wish  
Nine for a kiss  
Ten a surprise you should be careful not to miss  
Eleven for health  
Twelve for wealth  
Thirteen beware it's the devil himself.

The little girl smiled at the person behind her again and then she reached her hands up and a woman bent down and picked the girl up, and as the woman walked down the sidewalk the little girl with her big brown eyes looked to Special Agent Kurt Hummel and whispered, “Find me.”

In a hospital room at Saint Marks, Kurt Hummel’s eyes snapped open right before the machines started blaring.


	3. What Once was Lost

> “No evil dooms us hopelessly except the evil we love, and desire to continue in, and make no effort to escape from.” ~ George Eliot

Special Agent Noah Puckerman looked out his fourth floor window, nursing a scotch. He brought it up to his lips and sipped from the rim, letting the warm liquid glide down his throat. Behind him, the person on the bed moved and rolled over, “Noah,” came the plaintive whine of the woman lying there, “Come back to bed.”

He sighed as he set the glass down on the table; he moved to the bed and petted the woman’s hair briefly. “I’m sorry I woke you up,” he bent down and kissed her on the head, “Go back to sleep.”

He moved away and started out of the bedroom; he moved quietly toward his home office and opened the door. He slipped in, locked the door behind him, and moved over to his desk. He sat down and turned on the computer. He logged into his secure server and the opened his e-mail box. Checking over what was there, he frowned.

He picked up his cell he had left on the desk, dialed a number, and frowned again when it went to voice mail. “Hey man, its Puck. Call me back.”

Noah set the phone down and waited. No call came back. Standing up abruptly Noah went back, checked his door, and made sure it was locked. He moved back toward his desk and opened the third drawer; he reached back until he felt the catch in the back. Carefully Noah pried open the panel and pulled out the phone and battery he had secured back there. He assembled the phone and pushed the button , the call was one he hoped he would never have to make.

The cell phone picked up immediately, “I take it Porcelain wasn’t communicating?” 

Noah rubbed his shaved head and sighed, “He had never missed a call.”

“Maybe him and sweet cheeks had a hot date?” She said.

“Ma’am with all due respect, he knew when to expect my call. He’s never failed to connect with me for over ten years.” He answered with a barely civil tone to his voice.

He could hear tapping of keys over the cell, then a subtle shift in her breathing, “You need to fly now.” 

“What do you know?” He asked harshly.

“Not much other than a reported murder on Maple Street, and it seemed our sweet cheeks is our victim,” she said.

Agent Puckerman closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair, “Damn Sylvester.” 

She cleared her throat, “Find Porcelain Puck. Keep him safe.”

Agent Noah Puckerman closed phone and leaned against the desk hard, tapping his head with the phone. “What the fuck did you do Kurt?” 

8888

Instead of heading home Agent Mike Chang went back to Saint Marks Hospital, it was after hours but he just needed to check on his boss again. He was going to go home and try to sleep. Mike needed to be fresh in order to figure out what the hell had happened. Chang took the elevator to the fourth floor ICU ward, entering the quiet ward. He approached the nurses’ desk and flashed his badge to the nurse on duty. “I would like to check on a patient on your ward.”

The nurse looked at the ID, and then looked at Chang, “Which patient are you inquiring about?”

“I’m here to check on Kurt Hummel, and that’s H U M M E L ,” Mike said.

The nurse typed the name into her computer and then sat back, “He is no longer in ICU.” She paused, “I’m afraid he’s been mandated to the morgue. He passed away a half hour ago.”

Mike reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone just to check to see if Santana had called, “Agent Santana Lopez is listed as one of his emergency contacts, do you know if anyone had contacted her regarding Special Agent Hummel’s death?”

The nurse looked back at the screen, and frowned. “I’m sorry sir. I don’t see anything in the system,” she said with a hint of compassion she reserved for friend and family of the recently deceased.

Not saying a word Mike turned and walked away from the nurses’ station and headed toward the elevator, but once he got there, he stopped. He turned and started for the stairs and made his way onto the concrete stairwell. He pulled out his phone and dialed, and “Hey, Mercedes” he said.

“Goddamn Chang to do you have any idea what the time is?” Mercedes asked, clearly he had woken her and she was annoyed.

Agent Chang sat down hard, “I need your help Mercy.”

“I don’t work on the night shift, call me in the morning,” she said tartly.

“Wait, it’s about Hummel,” he said urgently, rubbing his forehead with his free hand.

There was a pause on the line, “Hun, you know I have Blaine scheduled for the morning. I’ll do right by the boy and you know it.”

“No, it . . . I’m at Saint Marks and . . . its Kurt,” he said, he rubbed at his eyes as the day was finally catching up with him, “Something feels off about it, Mercy.”

And a lengthy pause, “What are you saying Mike,” her voice was hard, “Tell me it’s not . . .”

“This is so fucked up!” Mike seethed as he hit the wall with his open hand.

“And Lopez, why in the hell wasn’t Lopez calling?” She asked.

“Because no one called her,” he said as he shook out his aching hand.

“You suspect something more than what happened to Blaine, don’t you?” She asked, all business.

“Yeah, and San and I are trying to keep it with those we trust.” He answered.

“This is what we’re going to do, I want you to set up the transfer of the body to my lab. I’m getting up and I’ll be on my way as fast as I can with my van. You got it?” Doctor Mercedes Jones was finally taking charge of the situation.

“Yes, Ma’am,” Chang said. 

“Good now hang up and get to work!” She said before hanging up on him.

For a moment, Mike debated about calling Lopez back to the hospital, but he really didn’t want to disturb her if she was talking to Brittney. There are some things he didn’t envy and letting family friend know of a personal death is a task that never gets any easier. He stood up and started down the stairs to the basement level where they kept the morgue. Briefly, Mike wondered if the morgue was ever located in a cheerful place.

He exited into the bowels of the hospital and made his way to the desk manned by the night crew that worked in storing the bodies that had passed away during the night. His foots steps slowed and he thought about whom he was going to have to deal with the request transfer Kurt’s body back to the FBI morgue. Kurt Hummel was a smart man, and a great agent. And damn it hurt to lose family, like Blaine and Kurt.

He approached the desk just outside the doors leading to the cold interior of the morgue; sitting at the desk was a very bored looking attendant, who looked to be filling out paperwork.

As Mike approached the desk he pulled out his badge, “Agent Mike Chang, I’m here to initiate paperwork to have Special Agent Kurt Hummel’s remains moved to our morgue.”

The young man whose id said he was Gus Jones, looked at the badge and frowned, “Sir, we need to have that done with the county coroner. And currently he wasn’t in.”

“Could you call him up? Our own coroner is coming in to bring Agent Hummel back to our morgue.” Mike said firmly but with polite authority.

The young man frowned, “Man, Figgins is going to shit a brick if I bother him now.”

“There are times when we all have to do things we don’t like,” Mike said, thinking of what was ahead.

Sighing Gus reached for the phone and dialed the number, “Sir . . . yes . . . no, but . . . sir I have the FBI here. Yes . . .” He looked up at Mike and then said, “Sir he’s here to pick up one of the bodies.” He listened intently and then frowned, “No sir, they have their own people coming to pick him up.” He hung up the phone and looked at the agent.

“Figgins wanted me the start on the transfer papers so he can just sign them when he gets here,” Gus said.

“Is that even legal?” Mike asked.

The kid shrugged and got up from his desk and grabbed the notebook that was stored below, he opened the door and waved the agent through. Mike didn’t know what to think of the policy in the morgue. Gus looked in the book and then looked at the drawer labels. He located the correct drawer, pulled it open and slid out the slab that the person laid; he was covered in a stark white sheet. Gus pulled back the sheet and then walked to a small computer in the corner and logged onto the hospital system. Mike walked to the body in drawer and looked down at it.

“You have the wrong body,” Mike called over to Gus.

Gus looked up from the computer and frowned over at Mike, “Kurt Hummel right?” He asked.

“Yes,” Mike pointed down to the body, “This is not him.”

Gus looked into his notebook then typed on the keyboard, “That’s him, number 8733576.”

Mike flipped back the sheet to look at the toe tag, the numbers listed 8733576, but the body was not Kurt Hummel.

“Who authorized the transfer to the morgue?” Agent Chang growled as he felt a headache creep up the back of his head. He turned toward the kid and resisted the urged to shout.

Gus looked confused at the question, but he turned back to the computer and checked, “Doctor Quinn Fabray, she also signed the death certificate.”

Agent Mike Chang left the drawer and walked over to Gus leaning into his personal space making Gus back up against the concrete wall, “I thought only the coroner could issue a death certificate?” 

“Well we all fill out the paperwork and uh . . . well.” Gus stammered, beads of sweat began to form on his forehead despite the cold.

“Open all the drawers, lets double check to make sure the numbers didn’t get added to the wrong body.” Over the next several minutes, they checked all the drawers and looked at all the bodies. Kurt Hummel was not among them.

“Shit,” Chang said, “Shit! Shit! Shit!” He turned and walked out the door and pulled out his phone. He yelled again as he realized he did not have signaled in the basement. Running to the stairwell, he slammed through the doors taking the stairs two at a time, searching for a signal on his phone.

When he finally got to a level, he could get a signal he dialed the phone, “Come on, Come on . . . pick up, dammit!” He said, deciding not to wait anymore, he ran up the stairs until he reached the section of the first floor that led out onto the parking lot. Finally, the call connected and he said, “Mercy, the body is gone!” 

“What do you mean the body’s gone?” Mercedes asked voice very hard and angry.

“I mean Mercy, I go down there to get your paperwork started and the kid doesn’t want to disrupt his boss. He opens the drawers and the body is the wrong person, we checked all the drawers. His attending physician signed off on his death certificate.” Mike said, rubbing his temples again.

“Call it in,” Mercy said. 

Mike hung up the call. Taking a deep breath, Mike absently wipes the phone on his pant leg, and called it into the dispatch.

8888

Agent Santana Lopez sat on her couch and wished for a very hard drink, then to crawl in bed with Brittney and never get out again. She wasn’t looking forward to telling Brittney about Blaine. Then she had to find out how the hell her boss came in contact with a neurotoxin, she did not buy for one second he just got a random spider bite and had eaten odd fish. Well maybe the odd fish, Kurt did like sushi. But she wasn’t stupid and besides they had worked through lunch today wrapping up the Cahill case. Then for dinner, they got subs, from Pat’s Bar down the street.

Santana sat up abruptly; Joey the normal delivery guy didn’t drop the food off at the desk. “Son of a Bitch,” she said. She looked at her watch and swore, the janitor would have cleaned out the trash by now, but if she hurried, she could get all the trash for the day before it left the building and take it down to the labs.

She stood up again and started for the door, “San?” called Brittney.

Santana turned around and smiled at her girlfriend, “Hey Brit,” she pointed to the door, “Need to head out again.”

“But you just got home,” Brittney came further in to the room she paused. “What happened?”

“Brittney I really, really need to go now, I’ll explain later,” Santana, said as she tried not to take her anger impatience out on Brittney. 

Brittney crossed the room and pulled Santana into a hug, “You need to stop of some point San, and you’re going to need to absorb what’s happened. Otherwise it’s going to eat you up.”

Santana touched Brittney’s face gently, “Is that on doctor’s order?” she asked.

“No, this is from someone who knew and loves you.” Brittney replied gently.

Santana let a little sob out as she hugged Brittney tightly, “I promise you, I will take that time out, but I really, really need to do this Brit.”

She smoothed Santana’s hair back away from her face, “I wouldn’t want you any other way.” She smiled slightly, “Go be an agent.” She pushed Santana toward the door.

Santana wiped the couple of stray tears that fell down her cheeks, as she turned, and went out the front door of her apartment. She stopped in the hallway a moment trying to get her bearings once more before heading down to the car park.

As she reached her car, her phone vibrated, “Lopez,” she answered the call as she clicked the door open.

“San, we have a problem,” Chang said.

“Tell me Chang, is this ‘everything that can be fucked up will be fucked up day?’ Hell night?” She ranted as she dropped down into her car. Chang didn’t respond and Santana waited, “Well what happened?” She snapped.

“After we finished at the crime scene, I thought I would go back to the hospital to see how the boss was doing, once I got here I found out he had died.” He said.

Santana’s hand hovered over the key in the ignition, “What the hell did you just say?”

“But the thing is San, his body is missing, I’ve already called it in.” He kept going, not repeating what he said earlier. 

Santana rested her head against the steering wheel, and breathed carefully through her mouth and nose, “Alright, you will stay there and give your statement, I’m going to head back down to the office and collect the trash for the day. I have a feeling that he was poisoned.” Santana had a feeling in her gut, somehow she knew she expected the call to come in to announce that Kurt had died. She will find out who did this, because you don’t fuckin’ mess with family.

“I don’t get why this is happening,” He said.

Santana closed her eyes and blew out a frustrated breath, “Yeah neither do I.”

8888

Special Agent Noah Puckerman, was tired. He had gotten onto the redeye flight that could get him to the FBI field office as soon as possible. While he was in the air he got word that Kurt’s body was missing from the hospital. The whole situation left a sour taste in his mouth. Finally, after several hours later he pulled into the visitors parking. He exited the vehicle, looked up at the square brick building, and sighed. He hated being in the Midwest, he worked hard to stay in DC, and now because his best friend decided to get his ass in trouble Noah had to come back to the Ohio. He walked into the building and up to the reception desk, pulled out his ID, and provided another set of papers, “I am here to see the AD in charge.”

The woman behind the desk picked up the forms and then she pressed a button on her phone and picked it up, “Sir, there is a Special Agent Noah Puckerman here to see you. Yes, sir,” she hung up hands the paperwork back to Noah. “He will see you, fourth floor.” She pointed to the single elevator to her right.

Noah gave her his best smile, “Thank you,” he looked at her badge “Sarah.”

She smiled back, “Maybe later,” she said as she hands him her number.

He pocketed the number and made his way to the elevator pressing the button for the fourth floor. When the elevator bell dinged, he got in and pressed the button for the fourth floor. He reached into his inner pocket and let his fingers brush against the phone he kept there. Once the elevator stopped for the fourth floor, he pulled his hand out his suit jacket and made his way right to the AD’s office. Once there, he knocked politely on the door and waited for the come in signal.

Noah was ushered in, opened the door, and walked in smiling at the man behind the desk. He extended his right hand to the AD, “Sir, I’m Special Agent Noah Puckerman,”

AD William Schuester took Noah’s hand and shook it, “What brings you to our part of the country Agent?”

Handing AD Schuester his paperwork, Noah sat down in one of the chairs comfortable in front of the AD’s desk, “Well sir I have been temporarily assigned to head the Violent Crimes Unit.”

Schuester opened the file folder and looked at the paperwork, “I didn’t authorize a need for a new department head.” All ready to dismiss the Agent before him without further thought.

“No, sir, but considering what had happened in the last 24 hours Washington thought it prudent to send someone from the outside to aid the current team with the investigation.” Noah said, pointing out the section dealing with Hummel’s missing remains. The rest of the paperwork was just hyperbole.

Schuester looked at Noah shrewdly, “I see.” He leaned back in his office seat, “Well then welcome to our field office. Your department is on the third floor.” 

Noah stood up, “Thank you sir.” He said holding out his hand.

“Don’t thank me,” Schuester said then turned back to his computer and ignored Noah, and his outstretched hand.

Noah lowered his and hand he reached out and picked up the abandoned paperwork Noah left the office and headed to the third floor. He walked slowly and contemplating what to make of the AD here, once he reached the elevator’s he pressed the call button and waited. A man in a wheel chair wheeled up to him, to wait for the elevator too. Once the doors opened, they both got on, Noah reached over and pressed the third floor button, “Floor?” he turned and asked the man in the chair.

“Basement level my man,” he answered.

Noah reached over and pressed the B button on the console. He waited in silence as the elevator door opened onto the third floor and he exited. Noah stood in the cubicle area the housed parts of the Violent Crimes Unit and many others. He walked over to the office with Special Agent Kurt Hummel on the door and walked in, he paused as he noted the very neat desk with pictures of his family. Noah walked over to the photo of himself, Finn, Blaine and Kurt at the one time they could convince Kurt to see a live professional football game. He picked the frame off the shelf and smiled sadly at it.

“Can I help you?” ask a voice behind him.

Noah turned and looked at a tall, dark and surprisingly beautiful Latina agent, “I’m Special Agent Noah Puckerman,” he said, replacing the photo back onto the shelf, “I have been temporarily assigned to head the Violent Crimes Unit.”

“The hell you are!” she said her tone sharp.

He passed the paperwork over to the woman, “Hell yes I am.” Noah was too tired and emotionally drained to put up with one more belligerent smart ass.

She opened looked at the paperwork and frowned, “You’re not going to be using this office,” she said bluntly.

“And why is that,” he challenged.

She walked forcefully toward Noah, he caught the scent of her strong lilac shampoo, “I’m Agent Santana Lopez, and I don’t trust you to not fuck up my boss’s office.”

Noah eyebrow lifted as he looked at her, “Yes well Agent, you’re just going to have to get used to me. And for the record, you treat me with disrespect again, I’ll report your ass. Are we clear?”

Agent Lopez shoved the paperwork back to Noah, “Perfectly,” her voice dripped with sarcasm.

She turned on around and stalked out of the office, slamming it shut behind her. 

“What the ever happened to ‘Welcome’,” he mumbled to himself.

He turned back to Kurt’s desk and grimaced, before moving around it and sitting down. First things first, he thought as he pulled out the phone from his inner pocket. He hit the number one on the speed dial and swung around in the chair so he was facing the wall.

“I’m in,” he said.

“Try not to alienate anyone while you’re there Agent,” said Sylvester’s stern voice.

Noah smiled a bitter smile, “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it Ma’am.”

“Now get to work,” she said before disconnecting the call.

He looked up at the blank wall for a few minutes trying to gather his thoughts before stretching his tight shoulders, then turned around and looked at his new ‘temporary’ desk. It was time to find Kurt dead or alive.

8888

“Kurt, Kurt, let’s play hide and seek,” called a little girl dressed in a blue checkered dress. She circled a tree in a grassy park, then leaned against it and started counting, “One . . . two . . . three . . .”

Sing a song of sixpence,  
A pocket full of rye.  
Four and twenty blackbirds,  
Baked in a pie.

“Four . . . five . . . six,” she counted off.

When the pie was opened,  
The birds began to sing;  
Wasn't that a dainty dish,  
To set before the king?

“Seven . . . eight . . . nine . . .”

The king was in his counting house,  
Counting out his money;  
The queen was in the parlor,  
Eating bread and honey.

“Ten!” She yelled, turning around with a wicked smile on her face, “Ready or not here I come!”

The maid was in the garden,  
Hanging out the clothes;  
When down came a blackbird  
And pecked off her nose.

She ran around the park and checked behind trees, bushes, and under benches. She walked and searched and laughed at her game. She stopped and waved her hand out, “Come find me.”

8888

Kurt opened his eyes on a gasp and started coughing as he fought to breathe. He slumped back against the pillows and closed his eyes against the burning pain in his chest. He felt ice chips pressed to his lips and he opened his mouth to welcome the coolness. The room become brighter and Kurt squeezed his eyes tighter to prevent the bright beam from irritating his already sensitive head.

“I’m sorry for the need to put you through so much pain Agent Hummel,” said a very calm female voice.

Kurt tried to open his eyes, but closed them again as the bright lights made him wince, “Who?” He rasped out.

“No, no Agent Hummel, no spoilers,” she said. 

Off to the side he heard the swish of fabric and someone moved closer to him, “You’re very lucky that the neurotoxin didn’t do anything permanent,” she said. “I would have been awfully put out if you had actually died on me.”

Kurt turned his head, trying to get his eyes to focus through the bright lights in order to get a good look at the woman who was speaking to him. “Why?” He asked through parched lips, wishing for more ice.

“Hmm, not one for idle chit chat, are we?” She laughed. “You have something I want.” Her tone growing deadly serious, “Unfortunately I have to wait until all the players are available before I can really get where I need to be,” Kurt felt a soft hand touch his face briefly. “So for the foreseeable future Agent Hummel, you are to be my guest.”

“No,” Kurt rasped as he struggled to get up from the bed, a strong arm pushed him back down and he panted for breath.

“You don’t have a choice Agent Hummel,” she whispered in his ear, “Eventually you will see it my way.” Kurt heard her walk away but then she paused, “Before I go, I want to give my sincerest condolences, Mr. Anderson will surely be missed.” Her heels made a rat-a-tat-tat on the floor as she left his room. Kurt felt a shiver run down his spine.

A shaper more jagged pain settled in Kurt’s chest. It was far keener than the dull ache of his lungs. He knew in the parking garage, that something had happened to Blaine. He wanted to know how, and mostly he wanted to know why. Why his lovely Blaine, his joy and light, Kurt closed his eyes and turned his head. They would not get the privilege of his grief and tears.


	4. Devil is in the Details

> “I’ve cried, and you’d think I’d be better for it, but the sadness just sleeps, and it stays in my spine the rest of my life.” ~ Conor Oberst

Agent Santana Lopez sat at her desk fuming as she stared at the door to her bosses office. How could they? How could they replace him like that? Hell why aren’t they forming a task force to find out what happened to him? She clenched her fist as she fought the urge to stomp her feet, and scream at the top of her lungs.

“Lopez,” someone called to her.

She spun on her heel, “What!” She really wanted to say ‘Leave me the fuck alone,’ but Santana knew she had to be a professional. Sometimes being an adult sucked.

Tina Cohen-Chang raised her hands up in a surrender position as she stepped back up a bit, “You might want to start switching to decaf.”

Lopez closed her eyes, “Yeah sorry about that,” she pointed to the office door, “just pissed about the new pro-tem.”

Cohen-Chang turned her head to the door and frowned but didn’t comment further. She then focused her attention back to Lopez, “I found your presents in my lab this morning.”

Santana turned her sharp dark gaze to the Asian woman, “You still have them right?”

“Yes and they are in my way, I have to process everything given to me from the Anderson-Hummel crime scene.” Cohen-Chang said.

Lopez shot a look at the closed office door before grabbing a hold of Cohen-Chang and dragging her to an empty supply room, “What I’m about to say stays between us,” Santana demanded.

Cohen-Chang shook her head, “I don’t think I can agree to this Lopez.”

Lopez lowered her voice, “I have reason to suspect that Special Agent Hummel was poisoned while in this building, and that poisoning was to get him admitted to Saint Marks hospital where he had supposedly died.”

“And you don’t think he died,” Cohen-Chang said.

“At the moment we only have the word of the attending physician and nurses on duty. I want to at least prove he was poisoned before bringing this to anyone’s attention.” She said.

Cohen-Chang crossed her arms and lowered her head in thought, before looking up at Lopez, “Alright, but I am not going through all those bags. You come down in two hours and start searching through them for the items you want tested and I want you to label every one of the specimens. Do you understand?”

Lopez squashed her impatience and resentment in being charged with ‘bag and tag duty’, but if she wanted this done her way she’d have to do it. She smiled to herself, because she knew she could convince Mike to escort her down to the labs. Lopez had suspected for a while that Mike had a thing for the lab dweeb. “Sure,” she smirked, “I’ll be there.” 

Cohen-Chang looked at Lopez intently before shaking her head and exiting the supply closet. Santana squared her shoulders and opened the door and exited and headed back to her desk. Mike walked in wearing sunglasses and holding a paper coffee cup. He sat in his spot across from Santana, “You look like shit Chang,” she said.

He lowered the sunglasses and gave Santana the stink eye, “The same could be said for you babe.”

She smirked, “Yes but I still manage to do it with style,” Santana stopped smiling and pointed to the office door, “We have a new boss.”

Chang sat down hard, “What do you mean we have a new boss?”

“Special Agent Noah Puckerman out of DC just arrived this morning with papers assigning him to our division.” She scowled, “No word from the AD about Kurt either.”

“Mercy ,when I left her last night, was on the war path on what happened in the morgue at Saint Marks, and man I’ve never seen a grown man almost piss himself,” Mike chuckled a little at the thought.

“Don’t joke man, Jones is a scary woman,” Santana shivered. “Also we have a date in the labs for some bagging and tagging duty.”

Mike stopped with the cup halfway to his mouth and then lowered the cup, “Who did you piss off, and why did you drag me into it?”

Santana leaned closer to Mike and lowered her voice, “I’m following up on my hunch from last night and Cohen-Chang said she’d keep it on the down low as long as nothing really concrete came up.”

“Hence the bagging and tagging,” he said.

“Yeah,” she sat back and looked at Mike, “and you know it will be funny watching you try to flirt with her.”

“You really hate me,” Mike growled.

“Sadly it’s true,” she smiled smugly.

“Are you going to talk to Artie about the other item we found?” Mike asked her.

“Wheels and I have never gotten along, especially over the whole Brittney thing,” She answered.

“I’m sure he’s gotten over it,” Mike said and he turned to boot up his computer.

“Right,” she said, ignoring his snicker. “He liked you and so I think you should set up something at your place, less chance of having any awkward questions asked.”

“Hmmm, yeah you’re right,” Mike started typing in his password when he looked over at Santana seriously, “So how are you doing?”

She deflated a little, slumping back into her chair, “I Wish the last 24 hours didn’t exist,” she sighed.

Mike seemed to sag a little as well, “Yeah, yeah same here.”

8888

Special Agent Noah Puckerman sat at his best friend’s desk and read over the reports that were filed on Blaine and his missing friend. Noah turned his eyes away from the screen and closed them against the sudden ache in his chest. 

He looked at the closed door and wondered how much he should share with Kurt’s crew. Agent Santana Lopez seemed pissed he was there, but he didn’t know about Agents Mike Chang, David Karofsky and Carl Howell. He knew it was Lopez and Chang who have worked the case Cahill case with Kurt. It was also Lopez and Chang who were on scene for most all of the last twenty-four hours. 

Turning back to the computer he pulled up the files on all four of the Agents under Kurt’s preview and read them carefully. What Noah found didn’t make him feel very good about who Kurt was working with, true the team had a good success rate, but the amount of disciplinary action against two of the agents under Kurt’s team didn’t sit very well with Noah.

He noticed that Kurt’s next of kin hadn’t been notified about what happened, and that was something that needed to be done before any media attention was brought to light regarding the open case. He moved back from the desk and stood up and walked toward the photo again. How many years ago had been since Finn, Kurt and himself just hung out together, too many years, never enough time in their schedules to get together anymore. For an instant he was polarized lost in thoughts streaming through his mind like so many snapshots. Turning around, Noah headed out of the office and entered the bullpen. He stopped and looked around at his section of cubbies. 

He saw Karofsky typing furiously at his desk, a scowl across his brow, Chang and Lopez talking to each other, but there was no sign of Howell. He walked to the center of the sections, and cleared his throat. Everyone stopped and looked up at Noah, “I’m Special Agent Noah Puckerman and I have been assigned as your temporary boss until further notice.” He met everyone one of his new agents gave, trying to project a sense of confidence that he didn’t really feel.

“Does anyone know where Carl Howell is?” Noah asked.

All three agents shook their head, and Noah watched as Chang and Lopez exchanged a look. Noah made a mental note to see if Howell was someone that needed to be kept under watch.

“Have you heard anything about Hummel?” Asked Karofsky somewhat apprehensively.

He looked at the three agents and sighed, “I just read the report from Dr. Jones and I believe it would be in our best interest to interview Dr. Fabray.” 

“Sir,” said Karofsky, holding up two fingers, like he would in a classroom, “I would like the opportunity to interview Dr. Fabray.”

“I don’t think so David, I want a crack at her,” snapped Lopez.

Karofsky sneered at Lopez, “I’m sure you would.”

“What is that supposed to mean, you fuckin’ fat ass,” Lopez looked ready to jump across the desks to tear him to pieces.

“Agents!” Noah called, “This will not solve the case,” he raised his voice, “We need to focus on what happened to Special Agent Kurt Hummel, and if you two can’t work together, you better damn will tell me now because I will get your asses re-assigned somewhere else and get agents in here that will do their job. Do we understand one another?”

Karofsky straightened in his seat and looked Noah in the eye, “Sir as much as Special Agent Hummel and I didn’t always get along ,does not mean I did not respect him as a boss. The fact that he disappeared from the morgue is just crazy. I want to know why and what happened.” His voice soft with gruffness.

Noah noticed that Lopez and Chang looked at Karofsky with raised eyebrows and more respect. “Had anyone informed Anderson’s or Hummel’s family about the situation?”

“No sir” said Chang.

Noah sighed, “I will deliver the news to the family myself then.”

“I really think it would be best if Mike and I delivered the news, sir,” Lopez said carefully.

Noah looked over at Lopez and shook his head, “No, I think your time is better served working on finalizing your findings regarding the crime scene on Maple Street and I want those reports by the end of today.” He then turned his attention to Karofsky, “Go to the hospital and interview the Doctor and I want you to check up on the Coroner. I wasn’t very impressed with the report on him, and Dr. Jones had some interesting observations regarding the procedures of how the morgue is operated, I would like you to review her report and follow up.” He turned and addressed Mike, “Chang, I also want your impressions of the morgue later today.”

He looked at the three agents again, “Try to locate our missing Agent Howell, Special Agent Hummel didn’t leave any notes regarding any open cases Howell was working on that was outside of the Cahill case. I want to interview each you regarding Special Agent Hummel later. Alright you have your assignments, dismissed.” Noah turned and headed toward the elevators.

Once Karofsky was out of sight as well, Santana leaned over to Mike, “Ready to head to the Gothic Geek lab?”

“I really wish you would stop calling it that,” Mike complained.

“You realize that Dickhead had a neck tattoo and a black lab coat right?” Santana pointed out.

“Still San, not very politically correct,” he said.

Santana stood up from her desk and started on her way toward the elevators that would take them down the labs on to the floor below.

8888

Agent Mike Chang looked at the table covered with six black trash bags in disgust, he looked over to Santana and said, “What are we doing again?”

Santana gave Mike a toothy grin, “We need to bag and tag every item that looked like a lunch order from Pat’s Bar.”

“Do you know how many people in this building order form Pat’s?” Mike asked in disbelief.

Santana patted Mike’s shoulder before snapping on her nitrile gloves, “We’re in luck, I was able to get to the janitor before he dumped his cart from our floor.”

Mike opened one of the trash bags onto the metal table and grimaced, “Yeah, oh so lucky.”

Tina came sailing into the room with evidence bags and her crate, she hands some of the bags to Santana before turning around and giving Mike a large smile, “I really appreciate the help, especially since this is something not on my schedule.”

Mike carefully picked out wax sandwich wrappers with partially consumed sandwiches, “We really are grateful that you’re adding the tests to you screening docket, Tina.”

Santana upended her own bag on another steel table, and she carefully picked through the paper debris, “I didn’t realize that you and Cohen-Chang were acquainted,” She give Mike a sly look.

Tina took one of the evidence bags and set it in her crate for later testing, “We work in the same building Lopez, of course at some point we would become acquainted.”

Mike ducked his head and hid a smile from Santana, “We’ve gone out for Dim Sum occasionally,” he said.

Tina blushes as she retrieves another evidence bag, then shoots a look over to Santana, “Once Mike and I went to a special showing of The Rocky Horror Picture Show,” She chuckles her eyes dancing with humor, as she started thinking about the memory, “Mike dressed up as Doctor Frankinferter.”

Santana stopped in her task to look at Mike with a wide smile, “No fuckin’ way.”

Mike sifted through another section of paper and trash, “Yes well not everyone could be another Rif Raf,” he said.

Tina adds another bag to her crate, “Lopez have you ever gone to a live show?”

Santana looked at Tina then back to her task, “No I don’t believe I have ever done that,” she said.

“You should go, it’s totally crazy,” she gushed.

“I’ll have to take Brittney some time,” then Santana removed the useless debris from the table and opened another bag.

They quietly continued to work through the remaining bags of trash. Tina put the last evidence bag in the crate. Mike smiled at her, and Tina smiled back. Lopez couldn’t help but roll her eyes at them.

“How long will it take to test all of this?” Santana asked.

“Considering I don’t know the type of chemical composition other than neurotoxin, I’m looking for, this could take me hours if not days to complete,” Tina told them.

“We don’t have days,” Santana, stressed, as all her earlier humor disappeared.

Tina frowned at Lopez, “Yes I know this otherwise you would wait like every other case. I’ve let Dick know that he needs to work on processing the evidence from the Anderson-Hummel crime scene.” Tina then turned to Mike and pointed at him, “Dinner at Breadsticks when this is all done right?”

Mike smiled, “Then it’s a date.”

With a bright smile in Mike’s direction and a smirk towards Lopez, Tina hefted her evidence crate and headed to another part of the lab.

8888

Special Agent Noah Puckerman sat in his car staring out the windshield looking at the mechanic shop in front of him. He thought back to the first time he had gone through a mechanics garage similar to this one as a surly teenager. Burt Hummel had taken one look at ‘Puck’, led him to the back, and sat him down and talked to him about what Burt expected of his new mechanic. Very few adults ever took the time to get to know him, and even fewer offered him any real opportunities. Noah liked to think Burt had changed his life, but that not how it really happened.

It took two teenage brothers each a mix of bravery and compassion than any other people Noah had ever met. Kurt had taught Noah how to survive and still come out whole and Finn had taught Noah that it was okay to have feelings for others. That having feelings didn’t make you weak, it had taken both of them to make Puck a much stronger person. 

Nothing in life turned out the way that Noah expected it to, especially that last summer in Lima Ohio. Shaking himself out of his morose thoughts, Noah opened his car door and headed into the mechanics shop. Even though this wasn’t Burt’s shop Noah couldn’t help but feel the old man’s presence around the place. He paused again as he saw the person he came to speak to bent over an open hood. He carefully approached from the side of the vehicle.

The man looked up at Noah and broke into a wide friendly smile, “Hey dude when did you get into town?”

Noah smiled at his friend Finn Hudson, “Yeah got in this morning.”

Finn stood away from the car and grabbed a rag to wipe his hands on, “So how long are you in town for?”

Noah rubbed the back of his neck, “Hey Finn can we maybe talk in your office?” Noah asked.

“Yeah man it’s through here,” Finn turned and headed toward the rear of the shop. Noah followed quietly behind him.

Once they were in the office Finn closed the door, then reached into a mini-fridge and pulled out two water bottles. He hands one to Noah before removing the cap from his bottle. Finn took a long drink all the while keeping his eyes on Noah. Once he set his bottle down on the desk he crossed his arms, “Why are you really here Puck?”

Noah set his unopened bottle on the desk, “I’m not here for a social visit Finn.”

“No shit,” said Finn.

“Last night at Eight o’clock PM Blaine was discovered murdered in his home,” Noah said as he watched as Finn’s face turned pale and stumble back into a desk chair.

“Oh god . . . oh man this . . . shit,” Finn said, he looked away from Noah and then turned to look back at him, “Man, how’s Kurt holding up. I’ve gotta call Mom and Dad. Fuck!” Finn ran his hands through his hair as he tries to absorb the news.

Noah leaned forward in the guest chair, “There’s more.”

Finn started to shook his head, “No . . . nononono. There can’t be more. Dude, no.” Finn looked pale, he didn’t want to hear anymore.

Noah pressed on despite his friend’s obvious distress, “Kurt is missing. He was admitted to the hospital last night due to poisoning. His body had turned up missing.”

Finn froze in his seat staring at Noah horrified, “His body?”

“He was declared dead early this morning at Saint Marks,” Noah said quietly.

“This can’t be happening again Puck,” Finn reverted to Noah’s high school nickname.

“What do you mean Finn?” Noah asked intently.

Finn stood up and moved away from the desk. He then started pacing around the small cramped office before completely deflating. “God, Dad!” he said with obvious pain in his voice, he looked helplessly at Noah, “This could possibly give him another heart attack.”

Noah stood up and then knelt down next to Finn, “I’m going to do everything I can to find out how this happened. You know this Finn.”

“This is all my fault, it’s all my fault,” Finn mumbled.

“Why do you think this is your fault, Finn?” Noah asked.

Finn breathed in deeply and then out, “Blaine was doing some research for me regarding . . .” He looked intently at Noah, he leaned even closer to Noah and whispered two to words in his ear. Noah rocked back on his heels and gave Finn a shocked look.

“After all this time, why would you even go back and revisit what happened. Hell, Finn that was fifteen years ago!” Noah stressed.

Finn grabbed his water off the desk and took another large swallow, “Dude not all of us can let the past die.”

8888

Mike exited the elevator and walked down the concrete walled basement; he will never understand why IT insists on staying in the bowels of the building. It’s not like the signal reception was better down here. Of course, Zizes like to keep everything a mystery, even form her own people.

He turned to the one door to IT and waits a beat as the cameras look him over, then he heard the very faint snick sound indicating the lock on the door released. Mike carefully nudged the door open and walked in. It never fails to creeps him out with the amount of quiet discussion interspersed with loud frantic energy combined with beeping machines and computers. He carefully made his way toward Artie Abrams workstation. He spotted the wheel chair and Arties headphone on as Artie was actively listening to something coming through the speakers. Mike waited a beat before tapping Artie on the shoulder.

Artie reached forward and clicked a few keys before removing his headphones. He turned his head back and smiled brightly at Mike, “Mike my man what brings you to the dungeon?”

Mike moved and leaned against Arties work station, “I have a huge favor to ask.”

Artie held up his hand to prevent Mike from saying anymore. He then motions for Mike to follow him \to a glassed in room not far from his workstation. Artie lightly types in a code on the key pad and the glass door slides open. He then waved Mike to walk in ahead of him and Artie followed. He then typed another set of numbers on the internal keypad and the glass doors sealed shut, opaque blinds slid down covering up all the windows. Once everything was done, Artie raised his hand for a fist bump. Mike rolled his eyes as he bumped fists.

Artie smiled manically at Mike, “So what’s the favor?”

Mikes looked around himself bemused by the whole thing. The glass room had one long table surrounded by chairs; Mike pulled one out and sat down facing Arties wheelchair. “I have a disk I would like you to examine.”

Artie’s smile faded away a little, “Damn, I thought you wanted me to do something exciting, you know like bugging Lopez and Brittney’s apartment,” Artie’s raised his eyebrows up and down, “I could put camera’s in their bedroom, with sound.”

There are times that Agent Chang wondered how Artie Abrams ended up working for the FBI, “No, and I will pretend I didn’t hear that,” Mike paused, “Please, tell me you haven’t because a wheelchair or not, Santana wouldn’t only press charges she will rip off your balls.”

Artie sneered a little at Santana’s name, “I’m sure she’d enjoy every minute.”

Mike waved his hand, “Let’s move on to the reason why I wanted to talk to you.”

Artie pouted for a minute before resting he elbows on the table in front of him, “Okay so again what’s the favor?”

“Is this room completely soundproof?” Mike asked.

With a wicked smile, Artie nodded his head, “Yeah man, it’s pretty sweet too.”

“Okay,” he said, rolling his eyes again, “Santana found a DVD at the Anderson-Hummel crime scene. It was hidden behind a photo. We figured it was something our boss didn’t want anyone to know about.” 

Artie sobered immediately, “A DVD?”

Mike became more alert at the change in Arties voice, “Yeah, plain disk, no label.”

“Gold, silver or copper?” Artie asked.

Mike thought back to the disk that Santana showed him, “Copper,” he said.

“Jesus Christ, Mike!” Artie exclaimed.

“Artie?” Mike asked cautiously.

“No one under any circumstance is to know that you have that disk. Do you understand,” Artie stressed.

“Yeah, yeah I get it, but why?” Mike questioned.

Artie removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “You have to see what’s on the disk to understand why I’m freaked the fuck out. Hell, I thought Anderson’s death was due to that crazy fuck Cahill.”

“And now you don’t think so?” Agent Chang asked.

Tapping the table in front of him nervously he nodded his head, “I don’t know if you knew this but Anderson was a grade A awesome researcher. He could ferret out the truth better than anyone.”

Mike looked at Artie in confusion, “Blaine worked in musical theater.”

Artie snorted, “Did you know the man at all? Hell, he had a way of deflecting a conversation better than anyone. Hummel didn’t meet Anderson in a community theater.”

“So tell me Abrams,” Agent Chang questioned, “What exactly did Blaine Anderson do for a living?”

Artie moved himself away from the table and started for the glass door, “I’ll bring the equipment to your place and once you see, you’ll understand better who Blaine Anderson used to be.” He typed on the keypad, the blinds rolled up and the glass door opened.

Agent Mike Chang watched as Artie wheeled away. Now he had more questions than any real good answers.

8888

Agent Carl Howell lives to observe others; it’s his favorite part of being an agent. He liked sitting back and cataloging what everyone does around him. It’s one of the reasons why Special Agent Kurt Hummel had picked Carl for his team, because Carl had a keen eye for detail.

Those details have him currently hiding from Special Agent Noah Puckerman. Carl remembered the picture from Hummel’s office. Granted Special Agent Puckerman is a lot older and he no longer had a Mohawk, but Carl prides himself on never missing a trick.

Carl ducked into the stairwell and down to the parking garage. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his cell phone. He clears the back security check point and waits until he exited onto the street before making his phone call. Another thing Carl knew is that Agent Lauren Zizes also misses very little, especially within the FBI building. She’s in charge of security, but even with her paranoid assistance on detail, she does have some blind spots, and Carl had learned to take advantage of these blind spots.

He carefully dials the phone number he memorized two months ago, “I have some news,” he said once he knew the line was connected.

“What have you learned?” she asked.

“Special Agent Noah Puckerman had been assigned to our department out of Washington DC.”

“Now that is very interesting news indeed,” she purred over the phone, “Anything else?”

“I believe Agents Lopez and Chang suspect something, they are staying close to each other and I’ve been watching as they have had several tense conversations today. Agent Lopez had also pulled one of lab techs into a supply closet for what I assume is a conversation.” He said, “Agent Karofsky had been sent to question Doctor Fabray.”

“Well, well we can’t have that,” she mused. “Is he on his way?”

“Yes Ma’am he is,” he said.

“Well then we’ll have to arrange something to happen to our good doctor. Contact Israel have him release the video. Be prepared to collect our doctor,” she said.

“With pleasure,” Carl said as he went to the vehicle he keeps parked six blocks away from the FBI building.

“And Carl,” she demurred, “Excellent work.”

Agent Carl Howell stopped his walking, he closed his eyes in reverence as he basked in the praise of the woman on the other end of the phone, “Anything for the cause Ma’am.”


	5. Sins of the Fathers

> “Desire of having is the sins of covetousness” ~ William Shakespeare

Agent Santana Lopez walked up the stepped that led to Agent Mike Chang’s house. Her gut was going hay wire ever since Mike told her about Artie’s strange comments about Blaine. ‘Hinky’ wasn’t even registering on her barometer; it was going straight to dangerously bizarre. She noticed the ramp resting against the railing into Chang’s porch; she wondered why it wasn’t down on the stepped. She knocked on the door in two short knocks. Mike opened the door and then stepped aside so she could enter the house.

Two things were very apparent right away, one Artie Abrams was setting up his equipment to Mike’s flats screen TV and that for the first time ever he had a dead serious expression on his face. Santana gave Mike a quizzical look and he shrugged his shoulders in reply.

“Hey Wheels,” she said as she sat down on the couch facing the flat screen.

Artie looked up briefly before finishing up with the computer. Santana frowned at him, and his lack of response had nothing to do with her normal antagonistic behavior toward him. Frankly his lack of comeback made Santana’s nerves start to tap dance under her skin.

“I’m ready,” Artie mumbled.

Santana reached into her jacket and pulled out the DVD she had found in her bosses’ home office. Artie took the copper colored disk and held it in his hands carefully. Mike sat down next to Santana, and they both watched as Artie seemed to be contemplating something. “Anderson had acquired the disk from a client he didn’t want to name,” he voice was soft and morose. “He didn’t share with me who his client was; because he wanted to protect both his client and me. Blaine assured me that the client told him that everything he needed to know was on this disk.”

He then slid the disk into his computer. Santana found herself leaning forward waiting for the screen to show something. There was a brief moment of blue screen before the video images popped to life. On the screen was a girl about ten years old, she was standing at a microphone, singing a song. Sitting back baffled, she opened her mouth to make a comment when there was fuzzy snow that flashed across the screen and then the scene was much, much different. It was hard to tell at first what they were looking at, but the camera panned across a bank lobby, there was a loud crash and four armed figures came into view. The image jumped again and off to the sides you could see many different figures lying on the ground. However, that wasn’t what was truly shocking a fifth unmasked figure strolled in the middle of the crowd. He walked to the teller and the image jumps again and there he looked up at the camera and smiled. 

Sitting back, shaken, Santana breathed out, “Fuck me sideways.” Not because it’s a bank robbery, oh no it was who the fifth person was, “That’s Augustus Middleson, could this be the Ohio robbery?”

Mike moved off the couch and turned and looked at Artie, “How long ago did you see this Artie?”

Artie removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes, “Anderson came to me about three months ago with this disk, but that wasn’t everything.” 

Artie typed into his computer and moved the images in slow motion, and Santana moved until she was on the edge of the couch and pointed to the screen, “That, what is that?”

Artie enlarged the image and filled in the pixels, making the image crisper. One of the people off to the side trying hard not to be seen was a figure of someone else, Santana squinted at the image and then sat back hard, “That is not possible.”

Mike walked over to flip off the flat screen, “Did you share this information with anyone else?” Mike asked urgently.

Artie shook his head, “No, I did what Anderson asked me to do, and I made sure to use my own equipment. I kept it all contained to the two of us. What I think is that Blaine was looking into the cover up of what happened in Lima fifteen years ago.”

“So this wasn’t about a bank robbery is it?” Asked Santana.

Artie shook his head, “No, Anderson was very interested in that person we saw in the video.”

“This is bad, very, very bad Mike,” Santana said.

“Blaine worked in intelligence didn’t he?” Mike asked Artie.

“I suspect he was an analyst,” Artie said, he opened the disk drive and pulled out the copper DVD and looked at it again, “And this is as far as I know the only known image of the woman that places her in the United States at that time approximately fifteen years ago.”

“Great one psycho bank robber in the same place as a religious cultist who hadn’t been seen for fifteen years, and the woman on that video sure as hell looked like her.” Santana said.

“Do you think it was her that could have killed Anderson?” Artie asked quietly.

Mike crossed his arms across his chest, “Why now, that’s the real question?”

They all shook their heads slightly, no one seemed to know.

8888

For every evil under the sun  
There is a remedy or there is none.  
If there be one, seek till you find it;  
If there is none, never mind it.

She smiled coyly at the little boy across the street and she played with her skip rope. Dancing around with her feet in her leather shoes. Her frilly dress all blue and clean.

Find me, her voice whispered across the wind. Find me.

8888  
Noah exited the mechanics garage and heads to his car in a near daze, he leaned heavily against his vehicle as he reached in his coat pocket and pulled out his phone and hit the speed dial.

“Puck, what do you have?” Asked AD Sylvester.

Noah closed his eyes briefly as he worked on pulling himself back together, “I need a protection detail for Finn Hudson,” he said.

There was a pause, “Frankenteen?” she asked.

Taking in another controlling breath he responded, “Yeah.”

“What happened Puck?” She asked her voice hard on the other end of the line.

He turned and stared at the garage again, “He hired Blaine for research, Sue,” he said his voice breaking, “He had the disk.”

“I’m pulling you out now!” Came her harsh reply.

“Wait, no, no don’t do that, I can handle this Sylvester.” He argued.

“It wasn’t a matter of what you can handle Noah,” she said quietly, “That case was to remain buried for your protection. The fact that Hummel’s idiot brother wanted to dig into something that should have remained buried is now a matter of national security. You are to get Hudson and yourself gone, do you understand me?”

“And Kurt?” Noah asked as he felt tightness in his chest that he hadn’t felt in fifteen years.

“I promised his father a long time ago I wouldn’t let anything happen to him, if he’s still alive I will make sure he came back that way, you know how this works. The last thing they need is to lose you and Hudson.” She warned.

“I need to clean up the FBI office here, I wanted to question a few agents that worked for Kurt, check into some details. It will look very suspicious if I suddenly disappear.” Noah said.

“You’re trying to find excused to stay aren’t you?” She asked.

“Ma’am, I’m not a teenager anymore. I’m also a very well trained FBI Agent, with military experience, I need to see this through. If anything I think all of us need to finalize this once and for all.” Noah said.

“You have always been very sneaky,” she said. “Two days Puckerman, that’s all I’ll give you. I will make arrangements for Hudson in the meantime. Stay vigilant, if they know you’re here . . .”

“Yeah,” he sighed, “I know.”

Noah opened his car and got in and leaned against the back of the seat, fifteen years of living his life, trying so hard to forget that last summer in Lima Ohio. The thing is he didn’t blame Finn for wanting answers, hell all of them did, but now . . . now it’s getting ugly all over again. Even having been a soldier some scars never ever fade and heal. Having been that smart ass seventeen year old who thought he knew the score, he knew absolutely shit. Shaking his head to clear it of his dark thoughts he started his car and made his way back to the FBI office to find some answers to what the hell really happened and how the hell he was going to bring his best friend back.

He drove to the FBI office and parked in the parking garage in the visitors parking, he turned off his car and closed his eyes as he mentally worked on getting his brain working and focused on his goal. Opening them he exited the vehicle and headed into the building. Waited in the queue through the security check point and felt a strange prickling sensation at the back of his neck. Someone was watching him, as he pulled out his badge and weapon and set them on the tray the feeling did not go away. He carefully surveyed the lobby and noticed a dark haired man watching him. Agent Carl Howell his memory supplied.

It was unnerving the cold stare that came from the man, and Noah had to wonder what precipitated such a dark look from someone he didn’t know. He cleared the security check point and holstered his gun and retrieved his badge and when he carefully checked to see if Howell was there, he was gone. Maybe he was being paranoid, but considering what might be after him, being paranoid was his only option.

He headed past the reception desk and gave a smile and wave to Sarah`, and continued to the elevators. Standing by one of the elevators was a large and intimidating woman. She turned and gave Noah the once over then turned back to the elevators like he wasn’t of any consequence.

“So, you’re the new agent trying to take over for Hummel,” she said.

Noah scowled at her, “I’m only temporary, I am not trying to take over anything.” 

She turned to him again, “You better hope so because there are very few agents in this building I can stand to work with, he and I understand each other very well.”

“And you are?” Noah inquired.

She smirked at him, “Yeah, wouldn’t you like to know.” Once the elevator doors opened she got in and hit the close button in Noah’s face.

“What the hell,” he said, shaking his head. Is everyone who work in Cleveland crazy?

He waited until the next elevator became available and rode it to the third floor, he exited the elevator and made his way to Kurt’s office. As he got close he heard, “Wait, sir. Hey wait, I need to talk to you.”

Noah turned around and noticed an Asian woman wearing a black lab coat walk toward him with a file in her hand. She stopped and looked at Noah shrewdly, “I’m Tina Cohen-Chang one of the lab techs,” she said.

“Nice to meet you?” Noah said.

She smiled warmly at him, “Agents Lopez and Chang had requested that I run a specialized test and if you could sir, I would like to tell you what I found.”

Noah opened the door and ushered Tina in, she stood before the desk and set the folder down, Noah picked it up and looked at the test results. “Is this related to the Anderson-Hummel crime scene?”

She hesitated a moment, “No sir,” she pointed to the file folder, “That was a test I ran on the sandwich wrappers from last night. I mean on the sandwiches that were delivered to this building.”

He looked her sharply, “Who ordered the test?”

Cohen-Chang ducked her head and breathed in deeply before squaring her shoulders, “Agent Lopez had reason to believe that Special Agent Hummel’s collapse was a result of poisoning, not a natural byproduct of coming in contact with the neurotoxin due to a spider bite for instance.”

“And the toxin you found?” He asked as he looked at Cohen-Chang.

“I have never come across a neurotoxin like this before, most toxins effects the respiratory system. This looked to be manufactured; Instead of creating paralysis, it inhibited the blood flow to the brain, hence creating one hell of a nasty headache. I believe the intention was to create symptoms similar to an aneurism.” 

“Is this a fatal dosage?” Noah asked.

“Left untreated it had the potential of being fatal, it also depend on how the recipient reacts to the toxin.” Cohen-Chang responded.

“Had anyone else seen these results?” Noah asked.

“No, sir.” She said.

“I noticed Lopez and Chang are missing. Tell me Cohen-Chang what are your impressions of them?” He asked. Noah knew he was taking a risk with asking her, but he needed to know who he could rely on in finding Kurt.

Cohen-Chang moved defensively, “They are really hardworking, honest. Neither one would not do their job to the fullest nor cheat the evidence.”

Noah sat back in the chair, “Alright. I want to have the data on the Anderson-Hummel crime scene as soon as it’s available.”

He turned his attention to the computer and didn’t look up as Cohen-Chang gave another quiet, “Yes, sir,” before leaving the office. Once she left the office Noah picked up the file with the test results, someone had tried to poison Kurt, had succeeded. But why and more importantly who?

8888

Kurt wasn’t sure how long he was in the room, floating in between pained sleep and consciousness. He turned his head to the left and looked at the line that led an IV drip to his arm. He looked to the right and noticed again the monitors keeping track of his heart rate. He morbidly wished it would stop and he wouldn’t be aware of the room again. But the deeper part of him, the person who learned long ago to survive despite everything kept him going. He needed a way out, but until then he had to get stronger. He used the pain to block out another deeper ache, because right now Blaine would never, ever forgive him if he gave up.

Kurt’s eyes had time to adjust to the room around him and he spent the time cataloging his surroundings. The room had one door and no windows; he noticed the ventilation was in the ceiling, it’s possible he could be in the basement of a building or house. There were lights attached to the head of bed similar to hospital beds, then three large halogen lights attached to the ceiling. He couldn’t see any sign of a camera, that didn’t mean there wasn’t one.

No one other than a very silent and very strong and very male mean nurse had been there to check on him. Kurt often tried to ask questions, but each time he was ignored. Kurt tried to sit up more than once, but his chest burned with pain.

The woman never came back to talk to him, and no matter that he couldn’t see her, he just couldn’t get over the sense that he had heard her voice before. Like a very distant far off blur, it was there buried in his memory.

Kurt was thinking about trying to sit up again and try to move, when the lights on the ceiling came on, and the room was flooded with ultra-bright lighting. Struggling anew to get up, Kurt felt strong arms hold him down. “Jesus, what the fuck do you think you’re doing? Get your hands OFF ME!” He struggled to shout.

“Careful there, we don’t want to injure our guest more than necessary.” Said a smooth woman’s voice.

“You need to let me go,” Kurt said, anger making his voice rise.

“My dear Agent Hummel,” she said sweetly, “We have so much to discuss.” 

Kurt heard a chair scrapping and a soft hand lying close to his, but the light was still obscuring the woman sitting next to him. “I have nothing to say to you.” He snapped.

The hand reached for his face, but he moved his head away, “I wish you would settle down Agent Hummel,” she said. “I truly don’t want to hurt you. When you’re strong enough I’ll move you to a better part of the compound. Wouldn’t that be nice, I’ll even make sure your room is very comfortable?” She purred, her voice holding an edgy undercurrent. She worked hard on controlling her own temper when faced with Kurt.

“I don’t want your room,” Kurt gritted out.

“I’m only missing three,” she said in the same hushed sing song voice, “And soon number two will be coming home.”

Kurt feels a sense of deep unease slither up his spin, as her words seem to trigger a far off memory, and he held himself very, very still. “Home?” He asked with slight wariness.

The hand he avoided earlier came to his face, cupping his cheek gently. “It’s been a long time Kurt,” she paused, “But not now, you’re still really ill. We have plenty of time.” 

8888

Doctor Quinn Fabray frowned at her computer screen, as she added her observations to a patients file. She stopped and rubbed her forehead where a small headache was making itself known. She checked her watch and smiled when she noted it was her time to go home. She closed her file and logged off the hospital system. She slipped off her lab coat and hung it up next to her jacket.

Working the night rotation was hard, but it afforded her some comforts form time to time. She picked up her jacket off the hook and slipped her arms into it, and then she reached over and opened her bottom drawer pulling out her purse and then her keys. She noticed something else in that drawer. She reached down and pulled out a white envelope, she reached inside and pulled out photo. Her heart just stopped. She dropped them on the desk and backs away.

With shaking fingers, she reached into her purse and pulled out her cell phone, and taps in the numbers she dreaded and hated for years. When she heard the person breathing through her earpiece, “You promised me!” she yelled. “You promised if I did this for you, you wouldn’t do anything about the pictures.”

“Ah, Quinney, Quinney, you just have to understand. It’s all about business. That was just another reminder that the FBI wanted to have a chat with you and we don’t want you to speak to them.” Israel said over the phone.

Doctor Fabray seemed to deflate into herself, “What do you want me to do?” She asked him pleadingly.

“Hmm, we have someone coming to collect you,” he said over the phone, “we want you to go with him. He’s our friend in the FBI. His name is Agent Carl Howell. Be a good girl now and exit into the stairwell. Oh, and Quinney, it had been a pleasure working with you.” Quinn pressed end on her phone and tapped it against her thigh as she contemplated if she should listen to Israel or take her chances with the FBI. She looked back to the pictures on the desk and tried to contain a sob that wanted to escape. Making her decision, she grabbed the photos off her desk, shoved them back into the white envelope, and then shoved them deep into her purse.

She turned and headed toward the elevators when an arm grabbed her, she tried to call out, when another strong hand covered her mouth. He leaned in and whispered in her ear, “Don’t worry, I’m here to help you, do you understand?”

Quinn nodded her head, “I’m going to remove my hand okay, but you are to walk with me like nothing out of the ordinary. Do you understand?”

Quinn nodded her head again and sighed in relief when the man removed his hand. She turned around and looked at him, “Who the hell are you?”

He gave her a slow smile as he carefully reached into his jacket and pulled out his badge, “I’m Agent Howell,” he said.

“Jesus, you could have just let me know you were lurking outside my door.” She said.

Humming under his breath, he reached out and took her arm in his, “I believe the stairs are this way,” he tugged her away from entering the main lobby area and back toward the stairs. Howell opened the doors and stepped inside the lobby the elevator doors opened and Agent Karofsky stepped out and approached the reception desk.

Quinn started to go down the stairs when Agent Howell pulled on her arm, and pulled her up. “Why are we going up?” She asked becoming alarmed.

“We need to wait until Agent Karofsky has left the building before I can escort you out,” he reached out and took her hand in his, “You have nothing to worry about, I’m here to take care of you.”

“Yeah, you said that and I don’t like you,” she said.

Howell chuckled under his breath, “I can be very likable, you just have to give me a chance,” he said.

She jerked her hand out of his grip then pushed past him and headed up the stairs, “How far to you want to go up Agent Howell?” She growled.

He smiled at her pretty backside, “To the roof, it should be the perfect place to wait just in case David decided he needs to check all the floors looking for you.”

“Fine,” she said as she walked up the stairs in a huff, this is the last time, she swore, no more deals, no more favors, she’s going to turn herself in and deal with it, because she was tired of being under everyone’s damn thumb.

She opened the roof door and stepped out into the open air; she looked over to the helipad, and hunkered down to avoid the biting wind, and the drizzling rain. “Here let me help you,” said Agent Howell.

“No I think I’m fine,” she said as she backed away, annoyed now.

Howell moved closer to her, “No, I insist,” he snarled and he moved closer to Doctor Fabray.

She backed away from the Agent as a niggling feeling of unease settled into her stomach. She moved to go back to the door and Howell stepped in front of her blocking her way, startling and alarming her.

“No, that is not acceptable,” he said gritting his teeth.

Quinn looked over to the other roof access and then decided to run, she didn’t get very far when Howell grabbed her by the waist and pulled her back, he covered her mouth to prevent her from screaming. “Now why did you have to go and do that?”

He pulled her kicking towards the edge of the building, “I hate to have to do this, but you understand how it is with business,” he whispered in her ear, as s thrill went up his spine.

Quinn’s struggled increased as Howell lifted her up off the ground and then with is much force as possible he throws her off the side of the building. Then bent down to the purse she dropped on the ground he opens it up and dumps the contents on the roof flinging the contents out in the wind and rain. Carol noticed the envelope with the pictures and opened it; he pulled out the pictures and smiled. “My, my Doctor Fabray, you have been a bad, bad girl.” Carl laughed as he picked one photo in particular and tossed it over the edge and down, down it drifted until it landed close to Doctor Quinn Fabray’s broken body.

Turning away from the ledge and stepping over the open debris of her purse, Howell pulled out his phone and dials a number, “It’s done,” he said smiling.

“Good job,” the woman said, “I have another task for you.”

“Anything,” he responds.

“Good,” she purrs, “You have an appointment with a certain mechanic. Run now, I don’t want you to be late.”

He ended his call, walked through the roof entrance just as the sky opens up and a strong wind and the rain washes away everything. Agent Howell took pride in a job well done.


	6. By Any Other Name

> “Half a truth is often a great lie.” ~ Benjamin Franklin

Nothing pisses Santana off more than not knowing what the hell was going on. It made her skin itch, when the answers didn’t come together. Santana and Mike entered into the Violent Crimes unit with a lot to think about and right now Santana was entertaining the idea of going down to the sparing level and beating the shit out of someone. She rounded to her desk, dropped down into her seat, and reached over to flip on her computer. Thanks to her new boss, she had to type up her notes instead of following up with the Cohen-Chang regarding the test results. 

“Bastard,” she mutters half under her breath.

She watched as Mike logged into the system and started his share of the report. She pounded her key board in frustration, as she added her observations of the Anderson-Hummel crime scene. And as she wrote she couldn’t help but reflect back at the man that Blaine Anderson was, because she is beginning to think she never knew him at all.

How many times had she gone out for drinks with Him and Hummel with Brittney? Hell Brittney knew him for years and not once had she even hinted that he was more than a fun loving, theater acting, singing goof ball. Her fingers stutter across the keyboard as her thoughts drift toward Brittney. She removed her hands from the keyboard and sat back in her chair. Her eyes flit toward the photo of Brittney on her desk. 

“Mike,” Santana called quietly.

“Yeah,” he said as he continued to type on his computer.

“Do you think you can keep Puckerman busy?” she asked.

Mike looked up from his work and then over to Santana, “Why?”

Blowing out a breath she looked at Mike and stared at him squarely in the eyes, “I need to go talk to Brittney.”

He didn’t ask her why she needed to talk to Brittney, he just nodded his head and went back to work, while Santana stood up from her desk and headed back out to chase down another lead that hurt even thinking about questioning Brittney concerning Blaine, would be a bitch. She walked to the elevators, pulled out her phone, and dialed her number to Brittney’s phone.

“Hey San, are you coming home for lunch?” Asked Brittney.

“Yeah babe, I just wanted to make sure you were available,” said Santana, as she tried not to let anything slip in her tone.

“Sure, my schedule is free.” Brittney said, with a smile in her voice.

“I’ll see you soon,” Santana ended the call and stepped into the elevator.

8888

Agent David Karofsky walked out of the elevator and strode toward the reception desk in the lobby. He smiled sweetly at the elderly woman operating the volunteer information desk. He pulled out his badge and asked, “I was wondering if you could point me to Doctor Fabray’s office, I was told she keeps one on this floor?”

The woman looked at the ID, “Doctor Fabray seemed to be very popular with the FBI today,” she said. Then she hands the badge back and pointed down the hall, “Her office is down there to the right.”

“Thank you ma’am,” he said and put his badge away. He didn’t ask about any other agent, thinking Lopez or Chang had tried to talk to the doctor today before he got the drop in with the new boss. He ambled down the corridor and turned right; he noted the name of the doctor on the door, and that the door was wide open. David looked in and then took a step, then another step. He knew she was gone, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t just take a quick look before checking to see if she was still at the hospital. He looked up her home address just in case.

He stopped and looked at her degrees on the wall, and noted no real personal pictures, even when he moved around to the desk. Like most doctors, she most likely had a permanent office elsewhere. He was walking around her desk when he spotted something on the floor. He pulled a pair of gloves from his pocket and put them on before gently lifting up what looked like a photo. He frowned in confusion before he heard a shout then a scream.

He rushed out of the office and watched, as people seemed to be talking over each other as they looked out of the west-facing window. He hurried over, grabbed what looked like a nurse, and flashed her, his badge, “What had everyone one all riled up?”

The nurse looked pale and shaken as she tried to clear her head, “Someone jumped off the roof.”

David reacted instantly, “Call the police,” he yelled as he ran toward the elevators. He pressed the down call button and waited before looking around for the stairwell. Just as he was to turn and hunt down another way to the outside a door in the elevator bank opened, he sprinted in, hit the close door button and waited until he was on the bottom floor. Two long minutes later, he was out running for the doors leading out to the parking lot beyond the hospital and into the drenching rain.

“Shit, fuck, god damn, son of a . . .” he cursed under his breath.

He noticed some of the hospital staff swarming around the person on the ground, and fuck, they were totally ruining the damn crime scene, if it was a crime scene, but he had that gut feeling. He pushed his way past idle bystanders as he heard one of the people said there was no pulse, David pulled out his badge, “Everyone move away from the body. FBI, move away, this is now an active crime scene.”

As he reached the body on the ground, he stopped, “Holy shit,” as he noticed it was Doctor Quinn Fabray. He also noticed not far from the body was what looked like a photo, with his still gloved hands he reached down to pick it up and almost reeled back in shock. It was the face of Rachel Berry, the daughter of the two most powerful crime bosses on the east coast. The woman who disappeared fifteen years ago in one of the most violent cases that had hit the United States had seen in decades. Finding her alive is worth 50 million dollars, finding her dead was an act for the Berry’s to seek out revenge on whomever killed her.

He now had cause to believe that Doctor Fabray knew what happened to Rachel Berry, but now that she was dead, no one could ever be sure. Far off in the distance the sound of sirens, he pulled out his phone and dialed the FBI office, when the reception answered he said abruptly, “Patch me through to Special Agent Puckerman’s office. Sir, we have a situation. . . Yeah sir, it looked like Doctor Fabray,” he said as he looked to the parking garage in the rain, “took a header off the roof of the hospital.” 

8888

Agent Santana Lopez looked up at her apartment building, she sucked in a lungful of air and then up the stairs. She let herself into the apartment, walked into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and pulled out a bottle of water. She took a large gulp before making her way to the kitchen table, sat down, and waited for Brittney.

Brittney S. Pierce walked through the door about five minutes later; she smiled brightly at Santana before moving past her to the kitchen, “I see you didn’t make anything for lunch?”

“No, I was waiting for you,” Santana said as she took sip of water.

“I’ll make us a couple of sandwiches do that sound good?” She asked.

“Yeah that sounds great Brit,” Santana said.

Brittney opened the refrigerator and started pulling out items to make their lunch. “Are you ready to share what had you all upset?”

Santana smiled sadly before she said, “It’s about Blaine and Kurt.”

Brittney’s hands stop and she breathed in and asked, “How bad?”

“Blaine’s dead Brit,” Santana said holding her head in her hands while looking down at the table, “And Kurt’s missing, possibly dead.”

Brittney leaned heavily against the counter, “How?” She sat the food down and rushed to Santana.

“It looked like our case got personal, and the perp got to Blaine before we could get Cahill arrested,” Santana said. 

Brittney abandoned the sandwiches and shakily sat down in a chair across from Santana, “And Kurt?”

“I can’t tell you Brit, it’s under investigation.” She braced herself for what she had to ask next “What did Blaine really do Brittney? I know he wasn’t just into doing the theater and that he was researching something before his murder.”

Brittney sat really still, “I told Blaine to let it go,” she said, “That digging into that particular case was playing with dragons.”

Santana reached across the table and grabbed Brittney’s hands, “Brit, I need to know.”

“I can’t tell you what Blaine really did,” Brittney squeezed Santana’s hands, “That information wasn’t important anyway. What Blaine was working on had nothing to do with his job, I . . .,” Brittney paused, “It had to do with Kurt and his brother Finn’s past. Finn asked him to look into a case that happened when they were a year out of high school; Kurt was in New York at the time.”

“We found a DVD at their home,” Santana said, “Blaine already had Artie look at it.”

“Then you know some of it,” she said as tears started to streaked down her face.

“Why did you not tell me?” Santana questioned.

Slipping her hand out of Santana grasp, she wiped her tears, “There are cases you work on and you come home that tear you up inside, and you know you are not allowed to share the details, no matter what. You do that, and I do that San, with my patient’s cases. Blaine was more than my friend.”

“Whoa wait, are you telling me that Blaine was one of your patients?” Santana asked.

Brittney looked at the table not meeting Santana’s eyes, “He worked in a high stress job, San, and he was assigned to my case load by his employers. I talked him into joining the theater to relax, because Blaine loved to sing. He met Kurt one night while performing; they hit it off right away. I guess the rest you could say is history, kismet or whatever.” She looked up at Santana, “Blaine trusted me, and I trusted him. Blaine came to me about Finn; he was worried for Finn and Kurt. He asked me for advice.”

Brittney stood up from the table and walked out the room toward her home office. When she returned, she had a small file in her hands. She seemed in a daze, with her tear stained face, her mascara running down in a ghoulish mask, as she sat down again across from Santana, “Three days ago Blaine came to see me.” She slid the folder across to Santana, “Saying he found her.”

Santana opened the folder, inside was a photo of a woman, she had dark hair, and very sad brown eyes. She was sitting in a park, but Santana didn’t know where the park was, it didn’t look familiar “Who is this?”

“I don’t want to know this information San because it scares the hell out of me. I don’t want you to follow Blaine’s clues; I don’t want you involved at all.” Brittney pleaded, “It involves the mob, it involves an unsolved crime that should just remain that way. “ Brittney tapped the picture with her finger, “Blaine told me that this is Rachel Berry.”

8888

Agent Mike Chang was finishing up on the last of his notes when the door to what used to be Special Agent Kurt Hummel’s office opened, and the new Agent in Charge came out. He took note of the fact the Special Agent Puckerman surveyed the bullpen and noticed that Chang was the only other person in the room. He slowly walked over to Chang’s desk and stood there until Chang looked up.

“If you are finished, I would like a word with you in my office,” he said.

Chang saved his file, sent it off to be copied on the FBI server to Hummel’s computer, and then up to AD Schuester’s office server. He stood up and went to Kurt’s office. No matter that, another agent occupied the office now; it would always be Kurt’s office. He followed Puckerman to the office, stood before Kurt’s desk, and waited. Puckerman moved around the desk, sat in the chair, and motioned for Chang to do the same. Mike sat and waited for him to start his questions. He wondered if he had the answers that Puckerman wanted.

Puckerman pulled out a file and set it in front of Chang, “I received a tox report and I want you to look at it. Tell me what you think?”

Chang looked down at the report and frowned. He picked it up and read further realizing this was the results of the testing on all the bagging and tagging they did that day. “Tina got the results fast,” Chang said to himself.

Puckerman leaned forward in his chair, rested his elbows on the desk, and crossed his hands, “I know you and Lopez don’t know me, but I know Kurt.” Making a split decision he stood up and walked over to the shelf with Kurt’s personal photos, he picked up the one with Him and Finn and Kurt. He hands the photo to Chang and pointed to the mohawked teenager, “That’s me.”

Chang looked up from the photo, “Why are you telling me this?”

Puckerman took the picture back and looked at it again, “Sometimes family is more than just about being related by blood, Kurt and Finn are my brothers and there wasn’t a damn thing I wouldn’t do for either of them. I want to trust you and Lopez on this, but I need to know if there is anything else you and Lopez suspect?”

Chang sat back in his chair and just looked at Puckerman, “We have some ideas, but nothing solid. We have more questions than any clear lead?”

Puckerman hangs his head and carefully setting the photo on the desk behind him said, “Does the name God’s Hammer mean anything to you.”

“Yeah, the nut job group who bombed the churches all over the Midwest for not being godly enough,” Said Chang.

“Not just churches,” Puckerman said quietly. “I lost my sister and mother in a bombing in Lima Ohio, because they went to temple.” He waved off any comments from Chang. “What I am saying is that they destroyed a lot of families but not just in the Midwest.”

“How does this relate to Kurt?” Chang asked.

“Finn, Kurt’s brother had a girl he loved more than anything, they met in New York while Finn was visiting Kurt. She was the light of his life, and Kurt’s roommate. They were going to take Broadway by storm.” Puckerman sighed heavily, “It was during this time that God’s Hammer’s cult was gaining strength and lighting a fire under everyone in the United States. They took a shine to Finn, I still don’t know why. The point is God’s Hammer moved their operations to New York for a bit.”

“The Trinity Church bombing?” Chang guessed.

Puckerman pointed at Chang, “You got it, plus a few others. My point is that it’s possible that they are looking again.”

Chang shook his head, “Not possible. Didn’t the FBI take down their cult?”

Puckerman moved away from the desk and just seemed to hold very still, “Maybe they didn’t get everyone.” The phone on the desk rang and he picked it up, “Puckerman.” He listened on the line and said, “What’s the situation . . . you secure the scene, we’ll be there in ten.”

Puckerman looked at Chang and said, “Looked like someone is cleaning up, Doctor Fabray is no longer available for questioning.”

8888

The giggling seemed to carry on the wind, and the little girl was singing a song that seemed to drift away. She was whirling in a circle with her arms out her head facing the sky.

Tommy’s tears and Mary’s fears  
Will make them old before their years.

She stopped spinning and then looked forward her brown eyes suddenly sad and her dark hair flying in the wind. Tears started falling from her eyes and she seemed to be reaching out. Find me Kurt; I’m tired of being alone.

8888

“Rachel,” Kurt gasped out as he sat up in the hospital bed. He rubbed his sore chest and remembered again that he wasn’t home. He rubbed the after image of the dream from his mind as he moved his legs restlessly. He hated not knowing what time it was or again where he was, and he hated even more that he really can’t do much about it.

It’s been years since he thought about Rachel, time and distance and an aching pain that never went away. He smiled bitterly to himself as he thought about the fact that he now had another ache to add to the pile. Kurt took the oxygen monitor off his finger, and slowly scooted himself to the edge of the bed. He slid his feet down and just hovered over the concrete floor.

He carefully sat his first foot down, not wincing at the biting cold that hit his feet or the numbness that seemed to attached itself to his legs. He carefully put pressure down and smiled that his footing is solid. He put his other foot down and then braced himself on the bed stood up and just swayed slightly and his heads seemed to want to spin now that he was vertical. Reaching back, he used the bed to push himself forward and moved toward the door.

The slow shuffle across the floor made his belly burn with anger. Nothing made him angrier than being weak. Kurt had spent many years working on being strong and agile in mind and body. If his captors are smart they know to keep, the door locked and if they managed to poison him and remove him from the hospital, then he knew they’re smart. However, it still didn’t stop him from trying to open the door. He grabbed the doorknob and twisted, nothing happened. He laughed at his own sense of drama, before shaking his head and being the FBI agent he knew he was, because the alternative made him want to break things. He surveyed the wall for any wires or easy holes that a hidden camera could be located. Hmm it’s possible his captures were trusting.

He carefully bent down to look at the lock and smiled, because it was a simple door lock. Also there wasn’t a dead bolt in place. Kurt tried to remember if he had heard a slide bolt since he’d been here, but he can’t. He looked at the door and nearly laughed aloud as he noticed that the door hinges were inside and not out. He moved to the pins on the door and carefully bent down; he looked at the pin holding the bottom hinge. “I will get out of here,” he said to himself.

Kurt is also a realist, as much as he wanted to breakdown the door and run like hell, he wouldn’t get far because; one he’s not dressed for it, two, and his lungs would give out before he got far. He looked at the door shrewdly and knew that he would get out come hell or high water one way or another.

He carefully made his way back to the bed and looked at everything that way around the hospital bed, then made his way over to the bathroom and opens the door. He noted there was no window in here either. He noticed for the first time clean scrubbed sitting on the counter of the small bathroom and slippers on the floor. This is good; he removed his clothes and got in the shower. The hot water made him feel more human and solid than he had since he woke up in this place.


	7. Echoes

> “If you know the enemy and yourself you need not fear the results of a hundred battles.” ~ Sun Tzu

Special Agent Noah Puckerman looked at the scene before him from the windshield of his bureau issued sedan. He’d in town for only a few hours to find out what happened to his friend and landed right into a shit storm. He looked over at Agent Chang he saw the same determination and exhaustion on his features. This whole day left a bitter taste in Noah’s mouth, reaching to open up the door he gathering up his thoughts he exited the vehicle and made his way to the crime scene, Agent Chang following in step with him.

They flash their badges to the local LEOs are securing the scene from the curious bystanders around the hospital. Agent Puckerman noticed Agent Karofsky speaking to a few people, Noah directed Chang over to Karofsky to get an update on the scene. Noah made his way over to the woman in the FBI blazer kneeling next to the body.

“Excuse me ma’am, I’m Special Agent Noah Puckerman; I’m the interim-lead for the violent crimes unit.”

Dr. Mercedes Jones looked up at Puckerman and frowned. “I’m busy,” she said dismissing him, as she continued examining the body of Dr. Quinn Fabray.

Noah not being one easily put off by abrupt behavior crouched down next to Dr. Jones, “I just want to get your preliminary idea on cause of death.”

Dr. Jones moved back and glared at Puckerman, “Looks like she took a long run off a short roof,” she signed, “Once I have the body back to my morgue and have time to properly examine the body, then you’ll get my results.”

“Look Doctor . . .” Noah started to speak.

“Jones,” she growled, “My name is Doctor Mercedes Jones; don’t you damn well forget it either!”

“I am aware of your name Dr. Jones,” he said feeling his temper start to get the better of him, “It’s very important for you to let me know if this was a suicide or if she was ‘helped’ off that roof. I’m trying to determine if she had any other connection to what had happened to Special Agent Hummel.”

“Like I already told you Special Agent Puckerman, you will get my report once I have had time to give the body a closer examination.” She argued.

“Time is very valuable right now Doctor so if you can quit being a stubborn ass so I can find out whom or what is behind all of this it would be very appreciated.” He hissed between clenched teeth.

Dr. Jones stood up and got right up to Agent Puckerman and with her pointer finger she jabbed him in the chest, “Don’t you dare act like I’m trying to prevent you from doing your damn job. I want to give you a correct and precise analysis so you can do your job. So, it you please go do you job elsewhere I want to get the body packed up, and as soon as I have a determination Special Agent Puckerman you will be the very first person to know.” She made shooing motions with her hands, dismissing him. “My name is Dr. Jones, get it right you righteous pig,” she hissed again under her breath.

Noah stood up and raised his hands in surrender, there was no more point trying to get Jones to see it his way and he had other avenues to follow with right now.

Waving him off, Dr. Jones directed her techs to bag the body and get it ready for transportation.

Breathing in deeply, Puckerman turned and watched as Agent Chang walked toward him. 

“You seemed to have had an intense conversation with Mercy, what did she say about the body?” Chang asked.

Agent Puckerman frowned at Chang, “Nothing at the moment. What did you find out from Agent Karofsky?”

Chang held up an evidence bag with a photo in it, “This was found on the body.”

Noah reached over and took the photo and his whole body froze, he could tell from the photo it was more recent then, well, then the last time he had seen her. “You say it was on the body?” He quizzed.

“You can confirm with David . . .,” Puckerman waved away anything else Mike said.

“Karofsky go over her office?”

“Yes sir,” Chang said.

“What about the roof?” Noah looked up at the roof and tilts his head then looked down at where the body of Dr. Fabray had landed. “Had anyone been up on the roof?”

“No one had been up there yet,” said Chang.

Puckerman waved Agent Karofsky over, “I want you to coordinate with Dr. Jones on the autopsy and as soon as you find out her determination if it was a murder or suicide, you contact me. Chang let’s see what’s on the roof.”

Both Agents made their way up to the roof, opened the door and walked out into the open windy air. He stopped as he orients himself to see the roof from Dr. Fabray’s perspective. He sees the helipad and the other roof access with what looked like bigger doors. Must be what the medical staff used when they retrieve patients that have the chopper bring them in to the hospital.

He got down and carefully measured his stepped, then he saw the slight scuffmarks, that the rain hadn’t completely washed away. He turned and looked back at Chang, “What do these look like to you?”

Chang crouched down, looked at the scuff patterns on the roofing, he turned, and squinted up at Puckerman, “Looked like possible signs of a struggle, but it’s not really conclusive. They get a lot of emergencies flown in from outlining areas.”

Noah looked over the roof again, focusing on some debris not far from the access door, “Nothing’s ever really conclusive until you can prove it,” he walked toward the items and bent down and looked closer. It looked like a very expensive, but very wet purse, and the contents of the purse scattered around it. He crouched down to look at the things scattered around the purse. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out gloves and slips them on his hands, and then he carefully picked up the envelope that seemed to be separated from the rest of the contents on the ground. Everything was still very damp.

Carefully opening the envelope Puckerman noticed more photos inside, and carefully pulled one trying not to tear the photos and he glances at it, “Shit,” he breathes.

“Sir?” Mike said.

Noah looked at Chang and shows him a picture, it was of Rachel Berry and the now dead Doctor, but more than that, was the person further back in the photo.

“Jesus!” Chang said as he got closer, “That’s . . .”

“Yeah, it is.” Agent Puckerman looked at the photo again, “The Queen of God’s Hammer herself.”

8888

Finn Hudson tried hard to concentrate on closing his books for the day, but his mind kept going back to his conversation with Puck. He knew he should have turned the shop over to Marco and just leave like Puck had said, but the overwhelming sense of loss and guilt just sat in his stomach. God he was so stupid to get Blaine involved. Why couldn’t he just let the past go? Why?

Finn sat back in his office chair and closed his eyes as his rubbed his temples, it shouldn’t matter anymore, but unlike his best friend and his brother, he just couldn’t find another way to deal with the demons in his head. It didn’t matter how many years separated him from those last few dark days that changed all their lives. It still felt raw and painful.

Finn really thought he could fix everything back then, protect his family and his girlfriend from all the insanity. That no matter what, God’s Hammer wouldn’t target his family. Finn pushed his chair away from his desk, so hard it fell over. Damn it, he thought as he stretched his back trying to ease all the tension that set between his shoulder blades. He made his way to the safe on the back wall and turned the dial in the familiar numbers and then once the bars slid away he opened it up and reached inside. He pulled at the warn photo that he just couldn’t let himself just throw away.

His thumbs traced the familiar line of her face; damn he loved her, even after all this time it still burned inside him. Bringing the photo to his face, he gently kissed Rachel’s image and set the picture back into the wall safe, closed the door and reset the lock. 

Resting his head against the closed door, “I promised you a long time ago I would never let you down,” he whispered, “It just seemed that’s all I ever do anymore.”

Standing up straight he turned back to his desk to close up everything, he started his reconciliation for the deposit when he heard a tapping on his door. Finn looked up at a man he had never seen before and smiled his best customer service smile.

“Can I help you?” Finn asked.

The man reached into his suit jacket and pulled out his badge, “Finn Hudson?”

Finn looked at the FBI credentials before looking at the man before him, “Are you one of Puck’s agents?”

The mam paused for a minute before asking, “Special Agent Puckerman?”

Running his hand through his hair he said, “Shit yeah, I forget he’s like in charge and everything,” he mumbles before he answered looking at the dark haired man before him, “I’m Finn, and did Special Agent Puckerman send you?”

The man smiled very calmly smile and said, “I was sent for you yes.”

Finn sagged in relief as he reached into another drawer and picked up his cell phone, “Good because I think if it was left up to me I just wouldn’t do what Puck suggested. Have you heard anything else on my brother?”

“It’s all in God’s hand son, nothing to worry about,” said the agent.

Finn looked up sharply, “What?”

“Now if you would follow me, I can take you to where you will be safe,” said the agent.

Pausing only briefly before he started following the agent he said, “Yeah, I need to let my guys know that I’m going to be out of town on you know family stuff.”

“Sir, its best that you not reveal the nature of what is going on,” said the agent.

“Puck was here earlier and Marco had known him for years so if I just run off, Marco will know something else is up. I just need to make sure my shop is taken care of all right?” Finn didn’t wait for an answer before walking to another section of the shop.

“Marco, hey I need to take off for a few days,” Finn called.

An older man turned from where his was wiping down some tools and looked at Finn, “Everything okay boss man?”

Finn gave him a pinched look, “Family stuff man. Don’t worry about it okay. I just need to you keep everything running while I’m gone.”

Marco frowned, “Don’t worry about the shop, it’s in good hands. You keep in touch?”

Finn smiled briefly, “Yeah man, I’ll be sure to let you know what’s going on.”

Marco nodded his head and then went back to his work, Finn turned and started back to the main part of the shop where his left the agent waiting for him. He grabbed his jacket off the coat rack and put it on as he followed the agent through the doors to the sedan waiting before them, “Hey dude, I didn’t catch your name?”

The dark haired man smiled before opening the door for Finn, “I’m Agent Carl Howell sir.”

“Hey cool, mind if I call you Carl?” asked Finn as he got into the car.

Agent Howell smiled broader at Finn, “Not at all Mr. Hudson, not at all.” He closed the door and made his way over to the driver’s side. He stopped briefly before sending off a text message saying: package received.

The answering text came in, You did well. See you soon.

8888

Agent Santana Lopez made her way to her car when she heard her name being called not far from where she parked her car. She turned and carefully put her hand on the butt of her gun.

An older man wearing an expensive suit stepped out the back of a limo, and Santana cursed herself for not noticing it earlier, “I’m Agent Lopez.”

The man made his way closer to Lopez and she stiffened as she recognized Leroy Berry, “I was wondering if we could have a chat?”

She spared a brief look at her apartment and then at the man and limo before her, “And what is it that you want?”

Leroy Berry smiled with a sharp charm and motioned to the limo, “If you will humor me, it’s a little open for my comfort.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” she said her eyes narrowing, “What would I gain from this ‘chat’?”

“Information,” he said.

Chancing another glance at the apartment Santana made her decision; she approached the limo and then stopped right in front of Leroy Berry, “I stay armed, you understand.”

“I would never request an officer of the law to relinquish her weapon; I am just a concerned citizen wanting to do his duty for the protection of others.” He said smoothly.

Lopez sneered at him as she sat in the back of the limo. She made sure that she sat close to the opposite door; she also noticed there was no one else at the back of the limo. It didn’t mean that she was safe; he could have an armed guard in the front with the driver. She tucked her hands in her lap, trying to remain aloof in front of the man as he sat next to her in the back of the limo.

“So what do I owe for the honor of having one of New York’s crime bosses come all the way to Ohio?” Santana asked.

Leroy Berry eyed the agent before him coolly, “It had come to our attention that someone had been researching the location of my daughter, and that unfortunate person is no longer alive? Am I correct?”

Working hard to maintain a calm face she said, “I cannot confirm or deny that information.”

He smirked, “Ah so I am correct then,” he said.

Seething more inside she said, “What is your game? Did you set up Blaine Anderson to be killed?”

“Oh no my dear, I most certainly did not, that I’m afraid is someone else’s’ work.” He said, “What I am interested in is what information you have obtained on my daughter.”

“And why should I tell you?” She asked.

Looking at his manicured hands he said, “As her father I am deeply concerned with her safety. And even though she left us a long time ago for her safety I would never want anything to willingly harm her.” He turned and gave Santana a steely gaze, “It had come to our attention that the people responsible for her . . . troubles years ago have resurfaced. Hiram and I agreed to not know where she was hidden to keep her safe. And prevent her from being used against us or anyone else. We would have discouraged Mr. Anderson from digging in too deeply about her disappearance had we known that was what he was looking into.” He raised his hand to forestall Santana’s comments, “We knew Special Agent Hummel, Agent Lopez. We had him in our home and never would either Hiram or I would wish for this to happen. That being said, I want your assurance that my daughter’s whereabouts will remain unknown.”

“I can’t promise you that,” she said.

He leaned closer to her, “If you can try to keep my only child out of harm’s way, I will work with my contacts to find out how far God’s Hammer had gone.”

“And how do you know it’s really God’s Hammer that’s behind all of this,” she questioned.

Leroy Berry sat back in the seat and closed his eyes, he looked very tired and very, very sad, “After all the bombings, and sending Rachel away, we took a vested interest in making sure that God’s Hammer remained gone. Even though the FBI said the managed to take down their organization, no one can truly behead a monster that big without another one waiting in the wings. We kept an ear in certain channels and over the last year there had been a subtle stirring in the religious underground that a new cell for God’s Hammer was starting up again.”

Lopez frowned, “Religious underground?” 

“Tsk Agent Lopez, cults just don’t advertise. They slink into your community until they become an ugly problem. Some are quieter than others are; did you know that at its worst God’s Hammer had over twenty thousand devout members? That did not include its financial backers and those who wanted to remain anonymous, so you see we did what we do best.”

Then Santana began to understand, “You kept an eye for the money?”

He smiled his shark like smile again, “We did indeed,” he reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a flash drive. “On this drive is everything we have compiled on God’s Hammers activities over this last year. It’s yours if . . .”

“If I make sure your daughter remains out of all of this?” She asked.

“To sweeten the deal even more, I can provide you with more Intel. It only serves us both if you are willing to work with me.” Leroy Berry said.

“How can I be sure that you aren’t going to screw me later,” She said.

“It’s the risk one took in business my dear. You are just going to have to trust me.” He said.

Looking out the side window Agent Lopez’s mind was a whirlwind of thought. On one hand, what he offered could help bring about Blaine’s killer. On the other, it could lead nowhere and all she did was just make a deal with the devil to tie her units hands up if they needed to locate Rachel Berry. Because Santana had no doubt that if, she tried to back out of her word, which things could get very, very ugly for herself and Brittney.

“Is this deal to remain between us or can I share with my team?” She asked.

“The fewer that know Agent Lopez the better,” he said.

Making up her mind, she trusted her instincts not to lead her wrong, “You Mr. Berry have a deal.”

“Very good,” he said as he hands her the flash drive. “My contact information is also located on that drive if you have need of it.”

Pursing her lips, she nodded her head, “Anything else?”

“Just remember what you promised and everything should work out just fine Agent.” Leroy Berry said.

Putting the flash drive in her inner pocket, she opened the car door and stepped back. She watched as the limo drove away and hopped that she didn’t just make things harder on everyone. Then she thought about Blaine and Kurt and knew she did what she had to do because in her heart, things were only going to get a whole lot worse.

8888

White, it was the color of purity. Everything that was true and excitable was white. She smiled at her reflection as she slipped the soft white cotton gloves on her hands. She then reached up, took her white coat off the white hook, and slipped it on over her white blouse. She admired herself and smiled serenely as she picked up her white brush and smoothed it through her long strands.

She didn’t turn from the mirror, as the door opened behind her, “Is it done?” She asked.

Agent Howell stood at attention, “Yes ma’am. Mr. Hudson is settled in his new room.”

Reaching over a picking up her red lipstick, she swiped it across her lips. She smiled broadly, “Only one more Carl and then everything will be complete.” Her eyes met his briefly, “You must be careful. Noah had always been hard to . . . persuade.”

Agent Howell moved quickly and then kneeled at her feet; he carefully took one of her white gloved hand in his and brought it up to his cheek. He nuzzled her hand, closing his eyes, and breathing her in, “I will do whatever you command, and I will follow you anywhere. Your will is my will.”

“Praise be Carl, we will find enlightenment and forgave in all our actions. Our enemies will fall before us, once all my children are all home.” She petted Agent Howell’s face, “Do me proud Carl, for the lord will hold you a special place in his house.”

Kissing her glove reverently, Howell stood and made his way from her room. She turned away and continued to prepare herself. She needed to look her best when she saw all her family again. Emma turned one more time at her reflection in the mirror. Perfection was everything.

 

8888

 

Ten little Soldier boys went out to dine;  
One choked his little self and then there were nine.

The dark haired woman watched as the scenery moved past her window. She kept her hands bunched in her lap; her shoulders ached from all the tension that just sat like a lead weight.

Nine little Soldier boys sat up very late;  
One overslept himself and then there were eight.

“Cleveland stop in twenty minutes, please wait until the bus had come to a complete stop before disembarking.”

Eight little Soldier boys travelling in Devon;  
One said he'd stay there and then there were seven.

She breathed in had deep as she could and willed the fear that wanted to take root in her heart. This had to be done, she didn’t have any choice did she, no she didn’t this was what the letter told her. 

Seven little Soldier boys chopping up sticks;  
One chopped himself in half and then there were six.

She came back to herself when the bus came to a sudden stop. She looked out at the terminal and fought the sudden need to just not get off, pretend that this was not her stop. Reaching down she grabbed her bag and with the other sad souls, she made her way off the bus. 

Six little Soldier boys playing with a hive;  
A bumblebee stung one and then there were five.

She made her way to the side of the bus where they were unloading packages and luggage and she retrieved her rolling suitcase.

Five little Soldier boys going in for law;  
One got in Chancery and then there were four.

Not far from the terminal stood a man holding up a sign. She carefully made her way to him and stopped. 

Four little Soldier boys going out to sea;  
A red herring swallowed one and then there were three.

“I came as requested,” she said.

Three little Soldier boys walking in the zoo;  
A big bear hugged one and then there were two.

He looked her up and down as he reached out to take her rolling bag.

Two Little Soldier boys sitting in the sun;  
One got frizzled up and then there was one.

Jacob Ben Israel smiled darkly, “Welcome home Rachel, welcome home.”

One little Soldier boy left all alone;  
He went out and hanged himself and then there were none.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know for a great deal of you you're screaming at me for ending it here. But time simply ran out, but alas this will be part of a bigger story and I promise I won't leave everyone in the dark.


End file.
